‘Detectives,’ Faye responded. ‘So, we just got started. Karen Wong, four foot seven inches tall, ninety-seven pounds. I looked over her clothes. There was some blood on the back of her dress, right around the neck line, but not much. A few more drops down the back of her dress. Seems to me like the hit on the back of her head happened and then she ended up in a prone position; I can definitely rule out where she was found as the crime scene. If she had been laying down there, there would have been a pool of blood. If she had been hit and ended up sitting like she was found, the back of her dress would have had a lot more blood.’
‘So, she was definitely moved then,’ Millar said, leaning in to get a closer look at Ms. Wong’s head. ‘Any idea what she was hit with? Could she have fallen and bashed it on something? Maybe she came out of a bar from a night of drinking, tripped, fell backwards and hit her head. One of her friends carried her to the scene, got scared and just left her?’
‘It’s possible, but I didn’t smell any alcohol on her. Usually, if someone’s really drunk, you can smell it in their blood. I did take a blood sample—my assistant’s processing it right now. He should be done with it shortly,’ Faye said, moving around the table. ‘Also, if you look at the bash on her head, here, help me turn her over.’ Millar slid on his mask and he and Penner helped turn Ms. Wong over onto her stomach. ‘See how clean the gash looks, well, other than the dried blood? There doesn’t seem to be any foreign material in the wound at all.’ Faye pulled an electron microscope down, which was hanging from the ceiling on a long, multi-jointed arm. It looked like something out of a sci-fi movie. ‘Sue, can you go and turn on the large screen against the wall there.’ Penner walked to the foot of the table and pressed the button on the side of a large monitor.
‘Did you see this, Faye?’ Millar asked, pointing to a bruised area on Ms. Wong’s right elbow. The bruise wasn’t very large, but to Millar’s untrained eye it looked rather fresh. He had seen many bruises since Tina took up wrestling. Over the years, she had come home with a wide array of bruises—different sizes, different locations. He was always amazed at the different colours that they turned over time. Purple, red, blue, green, brown.
‘No, but I hadn’t gotten to her full exam yet. Good catch, though,’ Faye said. Millar was surprised—it was pretty rare for Faye to say anything nice to him. He winked at Penner, patting himself on the shoulder. She shook her head, her red hair hiding a grin. ‘Okay, let’s have a look at this cut.’ Faye maneuvered the microscope just above the back of Ms. Wong’s head, looking at the screen as she did. After a bit of manipulation, the image on the screen was crisp and in focus.
As they were looking at the screen, the door opened and Faye’s assistant walked in.
‘Dr. Pelow, I have the results. Morning, Detectives,’ he said.
‘And?’ Faye asked, turning her gaze away from the screen.
‘No alcohol, no drugs. Pretty clean sample really.’
‘So, there you go Millar. We can rule out a night of drinking,’ Faye said, turning her attention back to the monitor. ‘If you look at the centre of the cut, it’s clean. If she had fallen, I would expect some dirt, grass, rock, something. Especially with the depth of the wound, she would have hit really hard. Plus, where her skull is actually shattered, I would think she would have had to have fallen onto something, like a large rock or a concrete parking curb. No, I would be inclined to rule that out.’
‘So, any thoughts then?’ Penner asked. She had returned to the table beside Faye.
‘At first, I was thinking something like a baseball bat, but the size isn’t quite right. The damage could have been done by a bat, but the wound doesn’t seem wide enough to me.’ Faye looked over her shoulder at her assistant. ‘Andrew, can you grab me the ruler?’
‘Sure thing.’ Faye’s assistant opened the top drawer of a filing cabinet. He pulled out a foot-long plastic, transparent ruler and handed it to Faye.
‘Thanks. Also, if you don’t mind, can you put on some coffee? I’m knackered,’ Faye asked, taking the ruler.
‘If you’re making coffee…’ Penner added hopefully.
‘No problem. Detective Millar?’ Andrew asked as he was halfway out the door.
‘Yeah, that’d be great. Thanks,’ Millar replied. Andrew shut the door behind him.
Faye put the ruler up to the back of Ms. Wong’s head. ‘So, length of wound, 2.9 inches. Width, 1.3…no, make that 1.25 inches,’ Faye said, scribbling down some notes.
‘How wide is a bat?’ Penner asked, looking back to the screen.
‘Bigger than that,’ Faye said, putting the ruler on the table next to Ms. Wong. She walked over to her computer on the counter beside the filing cabinet and logged in. Penner and Millar walked over beside her to see what she was doing. She typed a few things, moved the mouse and clicked on a button. ‘Right. So, here we have a database of different types of wounds caused by different weapons and, well, ordinary items that were used as weapons. It’s really quite amazing. It’s a collaboration between the FBI and medical examiners from around the world. We just got the newest version here in Canada last month.’
‘So, how’s it work? Can you search by wound, or weapon, or…?’ Millar asked.
‘Whatever you want, and you can put in combinations, too,’ Faye said, typing and scrolling as she spoke. ‘I wish I had this type of resource bank during my entire career, not just towards the end. It would have made my job so much easier. New coroners don’t know how good they have it. Okay, first, let’s see what the dimensions of the average baseball bat is.’ She clicked on a pull-down box on the top of the screen entitled ‘Weapon’, and scrolled to ‘Bat – Baseball’.
‘Wow, there are so many options in there!’ Penner exclaimed in surprise.
‘Thousands. Tens of thousands. The software was years in the making. This latest version is a real improvement. They added so much information, and they also have a separate database with different pictures of wounds so you can do a really good comparison. Pretty gruesome, some of the pics, but a real useful tool,’ Faye said. ‘Alright, so according to this, the average length for a wooden baseball bat is 48 inches, average width is 2.75 inches and average weight is 2.1 pounds. Now, for an aluminum bat, the width varies a bit, so between 2 and 2.75 inches.’
‘So could the smaller bat have been the weapon?’ Millar asked.
‘It’s possible, but I would expect the wound to be closer to the size of the weapon used. We’re about three quarters of an inch smaller,’ Faye said, as Andrew walked in, carrying a pot of coffee and four mugs.
‘If you need cream or sugar, there’s some in the kitchen next door—I couldn’t carry it all,’ Andrew said, passing out mugs and then filling them.
‘Black’s fine, thanks,’ said Penner, quickly claiming her cup. Millar was good with black coffee, too, as was Faye.
‘Right, what if we put in the dimensions of the wound and see what it returns, eh?’ Faye said. She selected another drop-down box titled ‘Wound’. Here, she was able to input the length, width and depth. Next, she was prompted to input the body part where the wound was located. After clicking ‘OK’, a whole list of information appeared on the screen, including some horrific looking pictures.
‘Man, that’s crazy! Someone put in a lot of hours cataloging all the info. So, what’ve we got?’ Millar asked, leaning in closer to the screen.
‘Well, one of the possible matches for what made the wound is the edge of a cricket bat. Many cricket players here?’ Faye asked.
‘Maybe, but I’m really not sure,’ Penner said hesitantly. ‘I don’t even know what a cricket bat looks like.’
‘Me, neither,’ said Faye. She clicked on the word ‘Cricket’ on the screen and it brought up a picture of a long, flat faced bat. ‘So, looks like the edge of the bat is around 1.6 inches, so that could be it, if it was used on an angle.’
‘Seems like a long shot, but possible I guess.’ Millar wasn’t convinced. He pulled out his note pad and made a note. �
�I’ll get one of the patrol guys to do some digging, maybe there is a cricket league in town we’re not aware of. What else?’
‘Well,’ Faye said, going back to the previous page. ‘Maybe a crowbar, they come in a lot of different sizes.’ She clicked on the image beside the title ‘Crowbar’. About a dozen pictures of head wounds appeared on the screen.
‘This one’s similar,’ said Penner, pointing to the fifth picture. ‘OK, so we have two possibilities.’
Faye went back again. ‘Tire iron isn’t quite the right size, I don’t think. Maglite is too big. Steel toed boots is the wrong shape of wound.’ Faye kept clicking and looking for another twenty minutes.
Another pot of coffee later, Faye said, ‘Could be a police baton.’ She clicked on the link to bring up the pictures.
‘That looks really similar.’ Millar looked closer at the ninth picture on the screen. ‘What are the dimensions?’
‘Says 1.3 inches in diameter. Interesting,’ said Faye. ‘Well, that’s another possibility worth looking into.’ They continued looking at photos and descriptions, narrowing down their search, but not coming up with many more options.
‘Alright. Time to do the full exam of the body. You’re more than welcome to stick around if you want,’ Faye said, as she and her assistant went back to the examination table and began to gather their tools.
Millar looked at his watch. ‘We should probably get to Ms. Wong’s place, eh?’
‘You’re right.’ Penner placed her empty coffee cup on a shelf. ‘Let us know if you find anything else, Faye. Thanks for the coffee, Andrew.’
Millar and Penner left the cold examination room and headed into the hall to the elevator.
‘I have to stop at the office before we go. Meet me there, then we can just take one car,’ Penner said as the elevator door opened.
‘Sounds like a plan,’ Millar said. ‘I’ll race you there.’ The door closed behind them.
CHAPTER SIX
When Millar got to his office, the red light was flashing on his phone. He put in his pass code for his voice mail and listened to the message.
‘Detective Millar, it’s Sergeant Whitely. Constable Grant asked me to give you a call regarding the canvas my guys did last night. Unfortunately, they didn’t turn up anything—no one seems to have seen or heard anything. I have a couple of them out again this morning, asking questions. If they turn up anything, I’ll let you know.’
‘Typical,’ Millar said to himself. Many times, even if someone did know something, they wouldn’t report it. There was still a distrust of the police in the area. There was a second message, this one from Tina, apologizing for the way she had acted that morning and saying she hoped Millar could make it to her meet that afternoon. He looked at the clock. Depending on how things went at Ms. Wong’s, he may be able to make it. Well, as long as nothing else came up. ‘Big if,’ he thought.
‘Ready to go?’ Penner asked, leaning against the frame of the door. ‘I’m all done here, just had to drop off some paperwork with the Captain. He’s been bustin’ my hump for not filing my reports on time.’
‘Yeah, I got a message from him last week, so I’ve been avoiding him. It’s been working so far.’ Millar knocked on his wooden desk. ‘Want to take my car or yours?’
‘Let’s take yours. That way I can catch a couple minutes of sleep,’ Penner said.
‘Nice. That seems fair.’ Millar stood up from his desk and grabbed his car keys.
As they walked into the hall, they almost bumped into Constable Grant. ‘Detectives,’ Grant said. ‘Just came to see you, Detective Millar. Mr. Singh, the bus driver, is upstairs to see you.’
‘I thought I told you to just give me his number? I’m busy right now. I don’t have time for him.’ Millar sounded annoyed.
‘You did, sir. He just showed up on his own,’ Grant explained. ‘I can tell him to come back later if you like, sir,’ He added, starting to turn to walk away.
‘No, that’s fine,’ said Millar, turning to Penner, ‘We don’t both need to do the death notification, right? Why don’t you take the good Constable here and I’ll stay and talk to the bus driver.’
‘Well, that doesn’t seem like a very good trade!’ Penner said. Like most detectives, she hated doing death notifications. It was definitely one of the worst parts of the job. ‘Rock, Paper, Scissors.’
‘Fine, on three,’ Millar said. They each made a fist and brought it down to their other hand on the counts of one and two. On three, Millar laid his hand out flat, while Penner held two fingers out like a pair of scissors. ‘Crap,’ said Millar.
‘Scissors beat paper. Constable, what room is Mr. Singh in?’ Penner asked with a smugness to her voice.
‘Room A-3, ma-am,’ Grant said. He couldn’t help but smile.
‘Fine, I’ll go,’ Millar said. ‘Ever do a death notice, Constable?’ he added, noticing the smile.
‘Um, no, sir. Well, not a real one, just simulation in training,’ Grant replied.
‘Well, you will today. You’re coming with me,’ Millar said. ‘I’ll let you know what we find out,’ he said over his shoulder to Penner as he started walking down the hall, Grant on his heels.
‘Likewise. Have fun.’ Penner enjoyed beating Millar any chance she got, which was quite often. For some reason, he always chose paper.
* * *
‘Thanks for taking me along, Detective,’ Grant said to Millar as they drove to the address on file for Ms. Wong.
‘No problem,’ Millar replied. He always found it best doing death notices with someone else, especially when you weren’t sure who you were going to talk to or how they would react. Who knows, the person you’re notifying could actually be the killer. ‘Okay, when we’re there, I’ll do the talking. I want you to pay attention to the reactions of anyone who’s there. Also, check out the room that we’re in, see if you can get a feel for the type of environment.’
‘Type of environment, sir? What should I be looking for?’ Grant asked, taking out his notebook and pen.
‘Look to see if it seems like a good household. You know, happy looking pictures, holes in the walls or anything. Blood stains. Anything that stands out. Anything out of the norm. But try to be subtle.’ Millar glanced over his shoulder and turned onto Queen street.
‘Right.’ Grant finished writing. ‘So, I don’t know if you remember me, but I met you at your last book signing here in town.’
‘Sorry, I meet a lot of people at those,’ Millar said. ‘That was the one at the Convention Centre?’
‘That’s the one. I was getting your newest book signed. And I was kicking myself because I forgot to bring your other two to get signed as well,’ Grant said.
‘You have all my books?’ Millar was a bit surprised. Patrol officers weren’t his usual target market.
‘Yes, sir. Profiling is really intriguing to me, the way you can formulate an idea as to who to look for just based on the type of crime and stuff. Really cool.’
‘Huh,’ Millar said, coming to a stop at a red light. ‘So, if you were leading this, who would you be looking for?’
‘What? Well,’ Grant paused and thought for a moment. ‘I’m not too sure. Based on the type of crime, I would be leaning towards a white male, probably early forties. I really haven’t giving it too much thought though. And you?’
‘Don’t know yet,’ Millar said pulling into the laneway. He thought that maybe Constable Grant was more intelligent than he’d given him credit for. ‘Right,’ he said, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening his door, ‘Just be observant for now.’ They got out of the car and walked up to the front door.
* * *
Mr. Singh was pacing along the back wall of the small interview room when Penner opened the door.
‘Good afternoon, Mr. Singh. Thanks for coming down. I’m Detective…’ Mr. Singh cut her off before she could finish.
‘Did I do something wrong? Why did you want to see me?’ Mr. Singh was visibly distraught.
‘No,
not at all. As I was saying, I’m Detective Penner. I just have a couple of questions for you about your route last night,’ Penner said. ‘Can I get you a drink? Coffee? Tea? Water?’
‘No, no, thank you. I would just like to know why you wanted to see me. My supervisor told me that a police officer had called and was asking about me. Wanted to know who was driving my route last night. I have been wracking my brain trying to figure out what I did wrong? Was I speeding? I am usually very careful when I drive, making sure I stay in the speed limit. Did someone complain about me?’ Mr. Singh pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his brow. ‘I didn’t run a stop sign did I? Do I need a lawyer?’
‘Mr. Singh, please have a seat, you’re not in any trouble.’ Penner pulled out a chair for herself at a long table. Mr. Singh finally sat down across from her. ‘So, last night, you were driving route number eleven. Is that correct, Mr. Singh?’ Penner asked, referring to her notes.
‘Yes, that is correct. Please, call me Sanjay,’ Mr. Singh responded, wiping his forehead again.
‘Did you notice anything out of the ordinary on your route last night?’
‘No, not that I recall. It was a pretty normal night. The run was busy until around 10:30, or so. Then, the last couple of circuits, there weren’t too many passengers. Typical. Seems like most people are asleep by eleven o’clock here.’ Mr. Singh seemed to have calmed down a bit. ‘There’s always the odd rider on each run, but as it gets later, the numbers go down.’
‘Are you familiar with the Terry Fox statue that’s on Wellington Street?’ Penner asked.
‘Of course, there’s a stop right beside it. Not one of the busier stops. I may stop there two, three times a shift. I think it’s a lot busier during the day with tourists going to Parliament Hill for the tours, but they stop around five. After that, some people go just to wander around, but not too many.’
‘How many times do you drive by it during your shift?’ Penner asked.
’Five times. No, six,’ Mr. Singh said.
‘And you work three in the afternoon until one in the morning?’ Penner asked, writing in her book.
A Striking Similarity Page 3