by Warren Court
Temple opened the front passenger door and squatted down. The car was immaculate. Not a scrap of paper, a wad of gum, or a popsicle stick to be seen. Phil Bernard, the TPS’s top latent prints guy, had slid in almost unnoticed and was sitting in the driver’s seat dusting the steering wheel.
“Getting anything?” Temple said.
“It’s been wiped down. Not a single print on the wheel. I’ll keep at it.” Phil was chewing tobacco while he worked the car. The thought of chewing something while sitting in this chamber of death disgusted Temple, but he gave the guy props for being able to shut off his mind to the horrors on the other side of the rear seats.
The forensics team was assembling their tent beside the car. When it was built, they’d slide it forward so that it would cover the back half of the vehicle; this would give the extraction team room to remove the bodies unseen by gawkers and the media.
Temple turned as Wozniak swore and clicked his phone shut. “Something wrong?” he said.
“The job’s fucked. You know that, right?” Wozniak said.
“I’ve heard that,” Temple said.
We need to talk,” Wozniak said.
“How about that place?” Temple said, pointing at a Chinese restaurant across the street.
3
The two detectives crossed over to the Pacific Rim Restaurant. It was sandwiched in between the Little Sweety candy shop and a vacant store with dusty windows. The cops had now closed the Danforth one block east and west of the scene. Angry commuters were being diverted to side streets, slowing traffic even more. Foot traffic was also blocked on the south side of the street where the Sobeys was located. More sirens could be heard in the distance as extra uniforms struggled to get to the scene to help secure it.
The Pacific Rim was empty. Wozniak flashed his tin at the elderly owner and spoke with him, and the small Chinese man turned the sign on the door around to Closed. Closed to everyone except the TPS.
“Temporary HQ,” Wozniak said. “He’s going to keep the woks going for the troops.”
They were soon joined by Francis Dalupan and Sergio Mendoza, two detective constables assigned to their team. The grunts who did the leg work, hoping one day to shed the title Constable and become lead detectives like Temple and Wozniak. If they failed in their tasks or didn’t get along with the team, they could be punted back to uniform.
Dalupan, a Filipino with seven years on the force, was dressed modestly in a grey sport coat, black pants, and a white shirt. Boring tie. Temple liked him; he kept his mouth shut and worked hard, eager to learn, although he was a little weak at times. Temple hoped he’d grow out of that once he got some seasoning. Mendoza was dressed in a solid black suit with what Temple thought was too flashy a necktie. The DC even had a matching pocket square. Watches too much TV, Temple thought.
“What stinks in here?” Mendoza said.
“What’d the manager say?” Temple said, ignoring him. Dalupan started referencing his notes.
Mendoza said, “He doesn’t know why the car was never towed. Doesn’t know when it showed up. We got the snow plow operator’s contact info.”
Dalupan flipped through his pages to keep up.
“What about the camera?” Temple said.
“Feeds into a desktop computer. Only captures three months then writes over it. It’s for accidents, slips, and falls,” Mendoza said.
Temple looked at Wozniak and shrugged. So there would be no clear shot of the driver after all. What a shocker. The restaurant owner came over with four green teas. Wozniak thanked him.
“I want our computer guys to take a look at it,” Temple said.
“It only captures three months, like I said. Our car has been there longer,” Mendoza said.
“Security guard claims it was there just before first snow,” Dalupan said. “Snow plow guy buried it.”
“I heard you,” Temple said. “I still want our guys to look at it. Nothing is ever truly erased. Think about that, Mendoza, the next time you use department computers to search those Thai ladyboy sites,” Temple said.
Mendoza’s face went red.
“When are we going to get some help?” Dalupan said and he yawned.
“We’re getting some,” Wozniak said.
“Who?” Mendoza said.
“Bill Rush.”
Dalupan raised his eyebrows. Temple was surprised that even the rookie had heard of the infamous Detective Bill Rush.
“No shit,” Mendoza said. That’s great—we’re getting The Lush. Lushy McSlushy. Works out of a goddamn bar. That ain’t any kind of help.”
“Enough,” Wozniak said.
“What about a couple more DCs?” Dalupan said.
“No word. Probably not until this Tsingtao thing shakes out.”
The Tsingtao shooting was the reason Wozniak’s team was down two of its detective constables. Two months prior, a crazed lunatic had pushed a pregnant woman in front of a subway train. It cut her in half. Then the guy had run up out of the subway and jumped on a streetcar, where he’d pulled out a knife and started slashing at everyone around him. One guy got it really bad, but everyone else had managed to get off the car unhurt. Temple and two of his detective constables, Williams and Lombardi, had been in the area canvassing witnesses for a case they were working. The two DCs had heard the commotion and ran to the scene, still in street clothes, trying to blend in. Temple was up in a building working alone, and hadn’t gotten there until after it went down.
The two DCs boarded the streetcar, guns drawn. The lunatic, a long-time schizophrenic known to the TPS and every other agency that worked with the mentally ill, came at the men with his knife, which was covered with the unlucky passenger’s blood. The DCs did their job, just as they’d been taught: they shouted at him to drop the knife and hit the deck. But no: the lunatic lunged, and the DCs unloaded. They fired nineteen shots and hit him with nine.
At first Williams and Lombardi had been hailed by the public as heroes who had taken down a knife-wielding lunatic, which they had. Then the videos start coming out. The shouts to drop the knife were seen as escalating the situation. Why hadn’t they lowered their weapons and tried to talk to him? Why not shoot him in the leg or shoot the knife out of his hand? Or leave the streetcar completely, lock him in it, and let him cool down? It was a bleeding-heart liberal’s field day.
Already forgotten was the first victim, the expectant mother lying on the tracks. Most people discussing the case in bars or on social media couldn’t even remember her name. The Special Investigations Unit, a quasi-police/civilian investigative team, despised by most cops, was reviewing the shooting. Until they were done, Williams and Lombardi were removed from the team and placed on administrative duties to drive desks. The incident was labelled “the Tsingtao shooting” by the press because an advertisement on the streetcar for that brand of beer was featured prominently on the various videos of the event.
“Just great,” Mendoza said. He yawned along with Dalupan. Both lead detectives knew their men were under strain, overworked. Still, it was a privilege to be on the team.
“You’re not happy here?” Wozniak said. “If not . . .”
“Come on, D, you know what I mean. We been busting our humps for months now. We’re down one of you and two of us.”
“It’s rough, I know. You could take a vacation back in uniform,” Wozniak said.
Mendoza held up his hands. “I’m done. We cool.”
“What do we have to work with?” Temple said.
“The 55 Division Detective and his team dug into the father’s finances, rest of the family. Immigration records. All clean.” Dalupan said.
“What’s the PowerCase file on that?” Temple said.
“Just search under Nair; it’s not locked.”
Temple knew he was in for a long night back at 40 College going through the files in PowerCase, the computer program that the TPS used to track all investigations. He had some reading to do before they started pounding the pavement. Until then,
the Nair family would be babysat by uniforms from 55 Division, whose domain the victim’s family home fell into.
He looked out the window and saw Care and Kindness talking to a reporter. She wasn’t the official TPS spokesperson, but she could do no wrong—and Temple grudgingly admitted she was good in front of a camera.
“Mendoza, you’re with John on this one,” said Wozniak.
Temple looked at Wozniak and tilted his head slightly. He usually worked with Dalupan.
“Let’s go see what they’re up to,” Wozniak said, ignoring Temple. The men of TPS Homicide Team 2 slid out of the booth and headed for the door. Wozniak left a twenty on the counter for the tea.
“Sergio, a word,” Temple said.
“Sure.”
Mendoza and Temple dropped back and let the other two leave. “What’s up?” said Mendoza.
Temple put a hand against the young DC’s chest and pressed him against the wall, knocking a red-bordered calendar of Chinese acrobats to the floor. Startled, Mendoza offered no resistance.
“You talk about Bill Rush that way again and I’m going to kick your teeth down your throat for you. Understood?”
“Jesus, John, I didn’t mean—”
“That man has more experience, more intelligence, and more balls than you’re ever going to have. Under-fucking-stood?”
Mendoza nodded and swallowed hard. Temple left the restaurant. Mendoza fixed himself and followed after him.
4
Temple and Mendoza rejoined the rest of the team at the tent that was now stretched over the car. Just as they got there they heard a splashing sound and Sara Chang came bolting out of the tent and ran behind the forensics truck. The team could hear her retching. No one commented; even the old-timers never got used to a bad extraction. Temple remembered his first: the side of the dead guy’s face had peeled off when they moved him and remained stuck to the wall he had been leaning up against for a week.
Wozniak looked back at the street and saw that the numbers of people on the other side of the street had swelled to about a hundred. There were dozens of media types as well. “Let’s get them away from there,” he said to his team. “I want both sides of the street blocked off. Give this family some dignity.”
Sara came back from behind the truck, looking composed. She put her breathing apparatus back on and went back inside the tent.
“Tough cookie,” Mendoza said. Temple nodded.
The extraction was done twenty minutes later. The two victims were carried out in body bags and placed in a coroner’s hearse that had backed up to the Lincoln. Temple and Wozniak ducked inside the tent. Forensics were photographing the trunk, looking at the blood movement and checking for bullet holes. That always made Temple laugh when he saw it on a movie—the idea of some killer firing point blank into someone in the trunk, the part of the car that was directly over the gas tank.
Temple went back outside the tent and headed to the front door of the grocery store, motioning for Mendoza to lead the way, he had already been in there. A uniform standing guard at the front door of the Sobeys opened it for them. The store was completely empty, like it was closed for the night, except all of the lights were on. The Muzak was off and he could hear the freezers humming. Mendoza led Temple up to the store’s office where the manager was. Mendoza leaned into the office and rapped his knuckles politely on the doorframe. Temple rolled his eyes.
“Mr. Mallik, this is Detective Temple. He’d like a word with you.
“Again?” Tathagata Mallik said, rising from behind his desk. “I was just getting ready to leave.”
Temple slid by Mendoza and entered the office. “Sir, I have a few more questions for you. We appreciate your patience, but we’re dealing with a hell of a situation down there. If we can finish this off tonight, we won’t have to call you down to police headquarters tomorrow.” It was a bold face lie, there was a very good chance that this store owner, a potential witness or even suspect was going to be called repeatedly down to headquarters.
Mallik sat back down and motioned to the chairs. “Sure, sure. Please sit down.”
“Thank you,” Temple said. He and Mendoza took the two chairs in front of the desk. Both detectives took out their notebooks and pens.
“First off, we’re grateful to you for closing the store.” Temple would have ordered it closed anyway. “It’s a crime scene out there and technically this whole building could be considered part of it, though I’m certain we won’t find anything to help the investigation in here. Everything we need is out there in the parking lot.” Temple wasn’t sure of that at all, but he was just trying to put his interview subject at ease.
“Such a tragedy. Is it the missing man and his daughter?”
“The bodies are badly decomposed. We won’t know for certain until later. What can you tell me about the snow removal for your lot?”
“Well.” Mallik cleared his throat. “As I told your colleague, we contract that work out. Same company for the past three years. They do a good job.”
“I have the details, John,” Mendoza said. Temple stiffened momentarily and then carried on.
“Did the snow removal guy let you know there was an abandoned car in your lot?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you know he had covered up that car completely with snow, making it impossible to see that it was the missing car reported last fall?”
“No, sir. He did not.”
“Did your security guards alert you to this abandoned car in your lot?”
“No, sir, they did not. I will speak to them about that, in the future…”
“Didn’t you see it?”
“No.” Mallik’s light brown skin turned darker. “I take the subway to work. I rarely go in the lot. We have cameras and the guards.”
“You have one camera. How many guards do you employ?”
“Eight. They work eight-hour shifts that overlap. We’re open from early in the morning until midnight.”
“The one who was on today. What can you tell me about him?”
“Curt?”
“You know him by name?”
“I do know him.” Temple noticed the emphasis on the word “do.”
“But not the others?”
“No, not really.”
“Why is that?” Temple said. Mallik did not answer. “You’ve had trouble with Curt?”
Mallik nodded. “He’s a little overzealous. A little paranoid, thinks everyone is ripping us off. He got in a fight with two kids last summer. He beat one of them pretty good, I heard, but they took off.”
“What were they doing?”
“Well, nothing, really. Looking in car windows. Curt thought they might be trying to steal a car stereo or even a car. It’s happened before.”
“And he attacked them?”
“I didn’t say that. His story was.” He paused. “I was up here, of course. His story was that he went over to them. Exchanged words and the kids attacked him. He’s a black belt in karate, so he knows how to handle himself. We made a report out with the police. The boys had fled, but we called them anyway.”
“Anything else?”
“Is he a suspect?” the manager asked.
“No. We just need to know about everyone connected with this. Curt is the one who called the car in.” Temple sensed something more. “What other problems have you had with him?”
“The girls. The checkout girls. I had to speak to him once or twice. He was always hanging out talking to them.”
“Was it once or twice you spoke to him?”
“Three times, actually. Last time I guess I raised my voice. In front of the customers. Told him to leave the girls alone. He got mad. It was my fault. I handled it badly.”
“Did you feel threatened?”
“No. I just got the impression that if he wanted to, he could have done me some serious harm. I guess it’s the karate and everything. Look, he’s a good kid. Wants to be a cop.”
Temple nodded. He had only taken a few
notes in his book. Mendoza had written it all down.
Mallik said, “I made sure a note went into Curt’s HR file.”
“I understand you’ve talked to Detective Constable Mendoza about your CCTV system,” Temple said. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to take the computer with us. We’ll bring it back and hook it back up.”
“Very well,” Mallik said.
Temple got up. Mendoza snapped his book closed and did likewise. Mallik’s face brightened at the prospect of being able to go home.
“Thanks for your help, Mr. Mallik.” Temple did not offer to shake the man’s hand.
“How long are those cars going to stay out there? I mean, when can people come get them?”
“Probably by tomorrow morning at the earliest. We’re going to contact each owner, let them know when they can pick their cars up.”
“Oh, thank heavens. It’s a terrible tragedy.”
“It certainly is. You can open up in the morning, but I’m afraid the lot will have to stay closed for a while longer.”
Temple and Mendoza filed back down the stairs and made their way to the front doors. “Where’s this security guard?” Temple said to Mendoza on the way out of the store.
“Curt? He had to split. We didn’t think it was a problem, so we cut him loose. I got his details.”
“You cut him loose?”
“John, we spoke to Wozniak about it. He said it was cool.”
Temple nodded. “Fine. We’re going to talk to him tomorrow.”
“You like this guy for it?”
“No. Just want to talk to him. And the snow plow guy. And next time you’re on one of my cases, you don’t cut anybody loose until I say so.”