While he waited for the car to warm up, he dialled his phone again.
‘Corporal Kulcheski.’
‘Hey, it’s Grant. How’s it going?’
‘Hey, Neil. I’m doing well. A little tired today but not too bad. Thanks again for driving last night. I had a good time.’
‘Yeah, me too. Are you busy right now?’
‘No, not really. Why? What’s up?’
‘I found something at the school today that you may be able to help us out with. I’m on my way to meet Millar and Penner at the Birch Tree Pub down on Slater.’
‘Okay, I know the place. I’m actually downtown right now, so I should be there in ten minutes or so.’
‘Perfect. Looking forward to seeing you.’ Grant hung up his phone, and then immediately second-guessed whether he should have said it. ‘Oh, well—can’t take it back now,’ he thought to himself and put the car into drive.
***
Grant pulled the heavy wooden door to the pub open and walked inside. It was dimly lit, and the floor felt sticky. He looked around and saw Millar and Penner sitting at a booth. He walked over to their table, took off his coat and sat down.
‘You’re still looking a little rough,’ he said to Penner. She was still wearing her sunglasses and had an empty water glass and a coffee in front of her.
‘This has to be one of the worst headaches I’ve had since university,’ Penner said. ‘I definitely can’t drink like I used to.’
‘Can I get you something to drink?’ a waitress asked Grant as she walked past the table.
‘I’ll get a stout, please. Just a half.’
‘Sure thing. More water?’
‘Please,’ Penner said.
‘So, any luck finding out who Mark’s doctor was?’ Grant asked Millar.
‘Yeah, we went to see him before we came here,’ Millar said, putting down his glass of cider. ‘According to the good doctor, Mark was healthy—definitely not diabetic—and he hadn’t prescribed him insulin.’
‘So, what? Are you thinking he was injected by someone else?’ Grant asked.
‘Why else would it be in his system? It’s not the type of thing someone would take if they didn’t need to,’ said Millar.
‘Seems like such a random thing to inject someone with.’
‘Yes, but apparently it’s an effective way to kill someone,’ Millar said. ‘Okay, now I’m starting to think you’re stalking us,’ he said. Kulcheski had appeared beside their table.
‘I asked her to meet us here,’ Grant said.
‘Oh really?’ Penner said. She tried taking off her sunglasses but decided against it. ‘How are you feeling today?’
‘Not too bad. A bit sluggish,’ Kulcheski said, sitting down beside Millar.
‘Kids,’ Penner muttered. The waitress stopped by the table and dropped off the water and stout.
‘Can I get you anything?’
‘Mint tea and a water, please,’ Kulcheski said. ‘So, yesterday, one of my old co-workers came by and we chatted for a bit. Turns out he’s friends with Inspector Wilson.’
‘Wilson actually has friends?’ Penner said. ‘That’s a little surprising.’
‘Yeah, no kidding. I kinda lost a bit of respect for him when he told me that,’ Kulcheski said jokingly. ‘They were getting together last night, and he said he would try and find out what Wilson was looking into.’
‘And? Any luck?’ asked Penner.
‘Not at all. I believe Wilson’s exact words were “tell that nosy bitch to mind her own business and drop it before I have her badge.” Nice guy.’
‘What a douche,’ Millar said. ‘Well, you tried. So, what did you find at the school when you were there?’ he asked Grant.
‘I spoke with the teacher again. Mark originally showed up at eleven o’clock, like we knew, and he seemed fine. He did a presentation until eleven thirty-five or so. That’s when he seemed to start sweating and took off his jacket. Within half an hour he got up and left.’
‘We’ll have to look into the effects of an insulin overdose—see if his symptoms are related, which I assume they are,’ Millar said. ‘If we can get an idea as to how long it would take before symptoms started to show, we may be able to figure out if it happened at the school, or sometime before he got there.’
‘I can look into that back at the precinct,’ Penner said, finishing her glass of water. ‘But it may have to wait until tomorrow.’
‘Anything else?’ Millar asked.
‘Yeah. Remember last night I said Gabe looked familiar to me?’ Grant said.
‘Yeah, it was after the drunk guys left, wasn’t it?’ Millar said.
‘Right. Well, when I was leaving the school, I had to wait in the lobby to sign out—the receptionist in the office was busy. Anyway, outside of the office they have a bunch of pictures hanging on the wall. I had glanced at them the last time I was there, just in passing,’ Grant said. ‘I was looking at them again this morning, and I saw this,’ he said. He pulled out his phone, went to the gallery and pulled up the picture he had taken earlier, passing it to Millar.
‘Wow. Does that ever look like Gabe. Just younger and with shorter hair,’ Millar said. He passed the phone to Penner.
‘Crazy, right?’ Grant said. ‘I must have seen this picture the last time I was there.’
‘Why would you have remembered this picture?’ Kulcheski asked, looking at the phone with Penner.
‘Probably because of the shirt he’s wearing,’ Grant said.
Kulcheski zoomed in on the phone. ‘Huh. Saskatchewan Roughriders.’
‘They’re my favourite team, so I must have subconsciously seen the picture and remembered the guy’s face.’
‘Why is Saskatchewan your favourite team?” Penner asked. ‘Why not Ottawa?’
‘Growing up, Ottawa didn’t always have a team—they folded a couple of times. Plus, I like Saskatchewan’s uniform. Green’s my favourite colour.’
‘Good choice,’ Kulcheski said.
‘Thanks. Before I left the school, I got a yearbook from five years ago,’ Grant said. He flipped through it until he came to the page he was looking for. ‘Here he is.’
‘Jeremy Slice. I guess this is who those drunk guys thought Gabe was,’ Millar said.
‘Exactly. But what if, and I know this is a crazy long shot, but what if it is the same guy?’ Grant said.
‘What do you mean?’ Penner said. She took the book from Millar. ‘They definitely could be twins, eh?’
‘I know, right? So, what if Jeremy is actually Gabe. Or Gabe is actually Jeremy,’ Grant said.
‘Why would Gabe pretend to be someone else?’ Penner asked.
‘I have no idea, but look at the picture.’
‘There is a striking similarity between the two of them—I’ll give you that,’ Millar said.
‘You guys have some pretty advanced facial recognition software, don’t you? I remember reading about it last year.’
‘We do,’ Kulcheski said. ‘It was developed here in Ottawa and it’s used worldwide now.’
‘If you were to take the yearbook photo and a current photo of Gabe, do you think the software would be able to do a comparison?’ Grant asked.
‘I’ve never worked with the software before, but I think so,’ Kulcheski said. ‘Give it to me and I’ll bring it in, see what they can do with it. We’ll need an up-to-date photo as a comparison, though.’
‘I have one,’ Penner said, rummaging in her bag for her phone. ‘I took a picture with Gabe after I bought the paintings.’ She went into her phone’s gallery and found the picture she was thinking of. ‘Oh, man. I look terrible.’
Kulcheski leaned over and looked at the phone. ‘You don’t look that bad. More just really, really drunk.’
‘Here, I’ll crop me out then send you a copy. I don’t need this in some RCMP file somewhere,’ Penner said, editing the photo before texting it to Kulcheski.
‘I’m going to see what I can find out about Jeremy Slice and Ga
be Tootsie,’ Grant said. ‘If they’re not the same person, we should find out pretty quickly.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
After finishing their drinks, everyone went their separate ways, agreeing to meet the next morning at Joe’s Diner to discuss what they might have found.
Millar and Penner drove back to the precinct. Millar parked his car next to Penner’s and she decided that it would be best if she took a mental health day and head home. Her head was still pounding and sitting at a computer researching insulin overdoses probably wasn’t going to help.
‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ Millar said, closing Penner’s door for her. She rolled down her window.
‘Thanks. Next time we go out, remind me not to drink so much,’ Penner said, adjusting her sunglasses.
‘Will do,’ Millar said. He stepped back and watched Penner back her car out and head to the exit of the parking garage. Penner’s parking spot was quickly filled by Grant’s car.
‘She decide to go home?’ Grant asked, getting out of his car.
‘Yeah, she did,’ Millar said. ‘Even if she’d stuck it out, I doubt she would have been very useful. I told her I’d see what I could find out about insulin and its effects when it’s taken in high doses. That must have been what was causing Mark to act strangely at the school.’
‘I’d have to assume so,’ Grant said, walking with Millar to the elevator. ‘Anything else should have shown up in the autopsy.’
‘Probably,’ said Millar, getting into the elevator and pushing the button. ‘So, what’s going on with you and Kulcheski?’
‘What? Nothing, why?’
‘Come on, I’ve seen the way you perk up when she’s around,’ Millar teased. The elevator doors opened, and they got out. ‘Plus, you drove her to the gallery last night.’
‘So? You drove Penner,’ Grant said. He could feel the redness creeping into his cheeks again.
‘Not quiet the same thing, but okay,’ Millar smiled. ‘If you want, you can use Penner’s computer. She’s not going to be needing it today.’
‘Good idea,’ Grant said, glad Millar had changed the subject. They walked together to Millar’s office, and then Grant continued to Penner’s. He flicked on the light, took off his jacket and hat and put them over the back of one of the spare chairs. Sitting down at her desk, he turned on her computer.
He opened an internet browser and typed in “Jeremy Slice”. Most of the search results were not for the Jeremy Slice he was looking for. There was a lawyer from Kent, England. An actor from Abbotsford, British Columbia who had passed away in the sixties. A semi-pro soccer player from Edmonton, Alberta.
He continued scrolling through the results and finally found some articles on who he thought was the right Jeremy Slice. The articles were a few years old and were about a sixteen-year old high school student. According to the author of one article, Jeremy Slice had won a province-wide art competition for a painting he had done. Ended up beating out over three hundred other entrants, including adults. There was a picture of his winning painting, along with a picture of Jeremy, himself. Grant clicked on the picture and a larger image filled his screen.
‘A bit younger and few pounds heavier, but it sure looks like Gabe,’ he thought. He clicked the back button on his browser and continued looking for information on Jeremy to see if he could find anything more recent. After half an hour of looking he hit a wall. There was nothing in recent years. No articles. No websites. No social media accounts. Nothing. It was like he had vanished after graduating from high school.
‘Strange,’ Grant thought. Someone that age would usually have at least one social media account, but there was nothing he could find.
He got up and stretched his back. Penner’s chair wasn’t set up quite right for him, but he didn’t want to adjust it. He knew how hard it could be to set all the angles just so. He decided to walk back to Millar’s office and see how he was making out. A little walk would do his back some good.
Grant knocked on Millar’s door. ‘How’s the searching going?’
‘Pretty good,’ Millar said. ‘Based on what I’ve found, I would say Mark was injected with the insulin sometime between ten thirty and eleven, give or take a bit. Faye said the only mark she could find that could have been an injection sight was on his thigh. According to what I’ve read, injecting insulin there has a slow distribution rate, so he would have felt the effects after around half an hour to an hour.’
‘He got to the school at eleven and started sweating at eleven thirty-ish, so he was either injected right as he got to the school or sometime on his walk there. What time did he leave his office?’ Grant asked.
‘Around ten thirty,’ Millar said.
‘So, theoretically, he could have been injected before he left his office.’
‘Looks that way,’ Millar said. ‘I should give Chris, his assistant, a call again. See if he’s diabetic. Maybe he was tired of running Mark’s errands and decided to do something to him. He might not have thought that something he injects every day would kill someone. Maybe he just wanted to make Mark sick or something.’ He made himself a note. ‘You find anything?’
‘I found some old articles on Jeremy Slice but nothing from within the last four or five years,’ Grant said. ‘He won some art awards when he was a bit younger. Pretty good painter.’
‘A painter, eh? Maybe you’re onto something,’ Millar said. ‘What about Gabe?’
‘I haven’t checked yet. Penner’s chair is terrible for my back. I had to get up and stretch before my back seized.’
‘Yeah, I’ve sat in that chair before. I have no idea how she can work sitting in that thing—it’s like a torture device.’
‘I was going to see if you wanted a coffee then get back to searching,’ Grant said.
Millar looked at the time. ‘Yeah, I can go for a quick one, but then I have to head home. I’m expecting a call from Tina this evening.’
‘Nice. Hope she’s doing alright.’
‘Me, too,’ said Millar.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Kulcheski grabbed the yearbook off the passenger seat of her car and went into the building. Her first stop was her supervisor’s office—he might know who to ask about using the facial recognition software. She walked down the hallway and poked her head in Monk’s office.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ she said.
‘Ah, Kulcheski. Come in,’ Sergeant Major Monk said from behind his desk.
‘How’re you feeling, sir? You’re looking better.’
‘Feeling better, thanks. Not a hundred percent, but getting there,’ Monk said. ‘How was the art opening last night?’
‘It was a lot of fun. I actually bought a painting, which is pretty cool. I’ve never bought real art before, just a couple of prints from the shopping mall.’
‘Very nice. What’s it of?’
‘A killer whale. When I pick it up, I’ll bring it in to show you.’
‘Make sure you do,’ said Monk. ‘Making any progress on finding out what Wilson is looking into?’
‘Possibly, but we’re not really sure. That’s why I’m here to see you,’ Kulcheski said. ‘We have two photos that we need to compare. We want to see if they’re of the same person or not. Do you know who I can talk to about using the facial recognition software we have?’
‘Um, yeah. Sergeant Mortise. Do you know him?’
‘Don’t think so. His name doesn’t sound familiar. Does he work in this building?’ Kulcheski asked. The RCMP had several locations around the city.
‘He does—on the third floor. If you want, I’ll bring you up to see him. I’ve never seen the software in action before, so I would love to see how it works.’
‘That would be great. Thanks, sir.’
‘No problem,’ Monk said, getting up from behind his desk and walking with Kulcheski into the hallway. At the end of the corridor, they entered the stairwell and walked up two flights.
‘I guess I’m not feeling as good as I thought,
’ Monk said, breathing hard. ‘That knocked me out.’
‘Do you need to grab some water or anything?’ Kulcheski asked.
‘No, I should be good. His office is just over here,’ Monk said, turning left out of the stairs. They came to a large set of glass double doors. Monk scanned his security card and the door clicked. He pushed on the handle and they walked in.
The room almost seemed to give off an electrical hum. Half a dozen people sat at desks spread out around the room, and each desk had three monitors. Along the walls were more computers and other electronics that Kulcheski didn’t recognize. She followed Monk as he walked up to a stout bald man sitting behind one of the desks.
‘Tuck! What are you doing here?’ the man asked.
‘Hey, Mortise. Wondering if you could help us out. Corporal Kulcheski here has a couple of pictures she wants you to look at,’ Monk said.
‘Sure. What you got?’ Mortise asked, rubbing his hands together.
‘We have this yearbook,’ Kulcheski said, opening the book to the page with Jeremy Slice’s picture. ‘We want to see if this guy here is the same person as this guy.’ She pulled out her phone and brought up the picture of Gabe.
‘Yeah, sure, we can do that,’ Mortise said. He took the yearbook from Kulcheski. ‘This one here?’ he asked, pointing to the picture of Jeremy.
‘That’s the one.’
‘Alright. First, I have to scan the picture into the system,’ Mortise said. He had a small scanner on his desk. He lifted the lid, put the page down on the glass surface and closed the lid. He pushed a button on the top of the scanner, and it whirred to life, a bright light visible between the lid and the book. ‘Let’s see,’ he said. He looked at one of the monitors and clicked on an icon. The yearbook page appeared. ‘Now I just have to isolate the picture we want and save it. Do you know the person’s name?’
‘According to the yearbook, it’s Jeremy Slice,’ Kulcheski said.
‘Okay, that one’s done. Now we need to save the other one,’ said Mortise. ‘Can I see your phone?’
The Art of Murder Page 17