A Striking Death (4 page)

nine

Leaning back in his chair, feet on his desk and hands behind his head, Detective Sergeant Nicholas Drumm was listening to Lori Singh talk. Referring to her notes as always, she was concluding her summary of her interview with Mike Bailey. He was feeling a lot better with food inside him, and he relaxed, enjoying the sound of his colleague’s soft voice. There was no trace of an accent, even though she was of Indian extraction; Lori Singh had been born in Canada and was Canadian through and through. She liked curry, though – he knew that. And biking. She was fit, too, and dressed well. And she drove a Prius, and he had no idea how she could afford
that
. Aside from that, he didn’t know a whole lot about her, except that she was a capable detective, not shy, and not afraid to speak up for herself. He had found that out on a case they had worked on in the spring.

Drumm became aware that she had stopped speaking and was staring at him. He cleared his throat, lowered his chair and removed his feet from the desk. “Sorry, Lori. I
was
listening, even though it might look like I wasn’t. Just reflecting on what you said about Bailey. Do you believe him?”

“I do, yes. At least, as far as his being at work until eight o’clock, that is. I was able to confirm that part of his story at his job site. But for the rest, I don’t know. And I have to tell you, Nick, he is a big man. He tried to use his size to scare me, and there was something about the way he was holding himself… I don’t think menacing is too strong a word for it. So, do I believe him when he says he didn’t kill him? I’m not sure. And he certainly has a hate on for gays.”

Drumm was pensive. “Right. Tomorrow, see if you can confirm with the neighbours that he got home when he said he did. Start with that Carlson guy. And then see if anybody saw or heard him go out again after that.”

Lori nodded. “Sure. And after that?”

“After that we’re going to pay a visit to a bookstore called Bookworm. Our Mr. Billinger worked there apparently.”

“He worked at a bookstore?” Lori was surprised. “I thought he was a retired teacher?”

“He was, yes. It’s a bit surprising, when you consider the good pensions that he was getting. But maybe he just wanted to keep busy.” Drumm was rubbing his eyes; he was getting tired again.

“And how do we know about the bookstore, Nick?”

“The fisties found pay stubs in the filing cabinet, right up to date. They were in an unmarked folder, which would be why you didn’t notice it. Looks like he was working there this week. Oh, and I forgot to tell you – Sigrid positively identified our guy as Arthur Billinger. From his dental records. Not that there was ever much doubt.”

Lori said, “Good. And what else do we know?”

“Sigrid tentatively puts the TOD at between one and two a.m. Killed by blunt force trauma. Big surprise, that. She’s doing the post tomorrow. And the fisties aren’t done yet but they do confirm entry and exit by the door in the kitchen. The broken glass on the kitchen floor shows that clearly; it fell inward. Let’s see, what else? There were numerous sets of fingerprints in the house, including on the door handles, but they haven’t got back to us yet about whose they are. And they found some dirt on the deck just outside the kitchen door, and more inside the house, which looks like it matches up with those footprints we found in the backyard. Same kind of soil, it appears.” Drumm and Singh had discovered a complete right and a partial left footprint under a tree in the backyard.

“So our theory is looking good,” said Lori. “He stood outside under that tree for a while, waiting until the right moment. Then he moved onto the deck, broke the window on the kitchen door, reached in and unlocked it and then went down the hall into the bedroom.” She thought for a minute. “What about the shoe prints? Do they know what brand?”

Drumm was shaking his head. “Not yet, but they will. Definitely some type of runner, size ten, was all that Ken could say for now.”

As Drumm was finishing speaking, Staff Sergeant Mark Chappell appeared in the doorway. He nodded to Lori Singh and said, “Where are we at, Nick?”

Drumm summarized the day’s events and his plans for his boss, then said, “We could use a little more help, sir. Can you spare anyone?”

“Funny you should say that, Nick. I was just about to assign you another pair of hands. You can have Detective Dick.” Chappell watched Drumm’s reaction with a sardonic smile on his face. “Be careful what you wish for, eh, Detective Sergeant? I don’t think you’ve had the pleasure yet, Detective Singh? I’m sure you’ll get along famously.” Chappell turned and left the office, still smiling.

“What was
that
about?” asked Lori. “Who’s Detective Dick?”

“Detective Richard McDonald,” sighed Drumm. “He was just transferred back into Violent Crimes, which is why you don’t know him. Most everybody calls him Detective Dick – doesn’t seem to bother him. In fact,
nothing
seems to bother him.” He grunted. “We’ll make use of him, I guess.”

“What aren’t you telling me, Nick?” Lori was curious.

“Ah… Detective Dick has a bit of a reputation.” He paused. “I think it would be best to wait and you can form your own impressions of the man.” Seeing Lori’s doubtful look, he went on, “He’s a good detective, don’t worry. He’ll work out fine.”

“If you say so,” Lori said. Then she asked, “Any word on Karl? How’s he doing?”

Detective Karl Wesson had been their colleague on an earlier case. Normally a solid and reliable officer, Wesson developed a gambling problem which escalated into a potentially career-ending situation when he had been unable to stop his downward spiral. Drumm had managed to cover for Karl without the Police Services finding out and Wesson had taken some vacation time to recover from his addiction.

“Karl is doing much better, Lori, much better. I try to talk to him every week or so. But he’s embarrassed by what happened, understandably, of course; I’m sure I’d feel the same.” Drumm started tidying up the mess of papers on his desk, and then looked up at her. “You knew he was with Robbery now, didn’t you?”

“I knew that, yes,” Lori said. “I’m glad things are going better for him. Shame to break up Smith and Wesson though.” She smiled.

Drumm laughed. “I’d forgotten that! And Smith and McDonald doesn’t cut it, does it?” Lori Singh and Karl Wesson had been teamed together a number of times and somebody at the station had dubbed them, “Smith and Wesson”; the label had stuck. Lori doubted that it would be used again.

Drumm was ready to go; he still had Emily to deal with. “Get a good night’s sleep, Lori. You’ll need it.” And with that cryptic comment, he headed out the door.

ten

For once, Emily was waiting for him when he got home. He parked the Miata behind her bright green Ford Fiesta and smiled. There was never any difficulty knowing where Emily’s car was – it stood out like a blinking neon sign on a dark night.

Emily was wearing an apron over dark slacks and a white camisole when she greeted him in the hallway. Her slim figure pressed against him enticingly as they kissed. He held onto her, enjoying the feel of her against him, then stepped back, still holding onto her waist, trying to assess her mood. He let her go and then reached up to flounce her hair.

She pushed his hands away. “Stop it, Nicky! You know I hate that.” But her tone was light and she was clearly in a good mood, he could tell.

“Why do you think I do it? It’s a man’s job to be a pest.” He looked around. “Where’s Will? And what are you cooking? It smells delicious.”

She turned and headed back into the kitchen. “I let him out in the back. He’s already eaten. And I’m just doing a stir fry.”

Drumm went to let Will in and played chase with him in the living room until Emily announced that dinner was ready. Will could keep up the game for much longer than Drumm could, and he was grateful to give it up.

Much later, after the meal was eaten, the dishes washed up and the dog walked, he and Emily were sitting on the couch and watching television. Some sitcom was on but they weren’t really concentrating on it. They were enjoying each other’s company, snuggling together like a couple of amorous teenagers. At times like this, Drumm thought he could stay with Emily forever. Kissing her, he took note of her lovely skin, the small wrinkles around her eyes, the tiny mole on her left eyelid. She appeared much younger than her forty-five years, unlike him. Maybe it was her vegetarian diet or the yoga she practised. Whatever it was, she was slim and sexy, and just now he was enjoying the sight of her breasts through her camisole.

Emily eased him away from her and asked, “So, what time tomorrow, Nicky? Can you really get away?”

“I’ll find the time somehow, Emily, I promise.” Drumm was thinking about his plans for the next day. “I want to see your office – it’s time I did. Let’s say one o’clock. But I can only do a half hour, okay?” He looked anxiously at her, to see if her mood would change or there would be an explosion.

It seemed everything was fine, however, as Emily leaned forward and kissed him. “A half hour will be fine, Nicky,” she said. “I know you’re busy.” She grinned mischievously. “Do you want me to wear this camisole tomorrow afternoon?”

“That ratty old thing? Nope, it’s time you got rid of it. Hands up!”

Emily smiled and obediently raised her arms. Drumm grasped the bottom of the camisole and pulled it slowly over her head.

eleven

Tea for Lori Singh, coffee for Drumm: that was the usual morning routine when the two of them were working a case together. A selection of baked goods completed Drumm’s morning offering to his colleague. Today’s selection was a couple of croissants and a cherry Danish. The morning treat was a habit he had gotten into years ago; he found it helped everyone get off to a good start.

Lori Singh thanked Drumm for the tea and helped herself to a croissant. She didn’t particularly like them but she didn’t want to hurt her boss’s feelings, and besides, the Danish would be too sticky. It was funny, she thought: he bought all this sweet stuff and then rarely had any of it for himself.

Drumm sat back in his chair and sipped his coffee. “Slight change of plans, Lori. Now that we have Detective McDonald assigned to the case, the two of you can go back to the neighborhood and canvass the neighbors again. It will give you a chance to get to know him. I’m going to head over to Bookworm.” At Lori’s nod, he continued, “If you turn up anything interesting, call me. And afterwards, start digging into the background on Billinger, Garmand, Bailey, Carlson too, I guess, and anyone else that turns up this morning. Arthur Billinger first, of course. See what you can find out.”

“Alright.” Lori had finished her tea.

“What about that Louisa Billinger. Do you want me to contact her?”

“No, I tried last night. I spoke to the administrator of the nursing home she’s in. She told me that the old girl’s dementia is so bad that she isn’t aware of anything anymore. She hasn’t known her brother for years now.”

“So there wasn’t any contact between them?”

Drumm said, “He called her once a year, apparently, at Christmas. So she could hear his voice. And that was it.”

Lori sighed. “So we’ll get no help there. Alright then.” She thought for a few seconds. “Where is Detective McDonald, anyway?”

“He’ll be waiting for you at Billinger’s house. He lives over that way, it turns out, and so I told him just to meet you there. Saved him driving here when there was no real need for it. Let me know how you get on.”

Detective Richard McDonald was waiting in front of Arthur Billinger’s house, leaning indolently against his car and sipping from a can of Coke. He watched Lori park her Prius behind his rather dirty Grand Prix. He pushed himself away from his car and waited for her on the sidewalk.

“Hello, love,” he said. “You must be Detective Singh.” He looked her over carefully. “Well, this won’t be half bad, will it? Nick told me you were a looker but he was understating it, wasn’t he? I’m Richard McDonald.” He made no move to shake hands, merely lifted his can of Coke in a mock salute.

Lori said, “You’ve got dirt on your ass.” She pointed at the back of his pants. She was inwardly annoyed but she was determined not to show it. She hated being called ‘love’. “I’m Lori Singh. Pleased to meet you, Richard.”

“Oh, call me Dick. Everyone does.” He brushed away the dust from his pants. “Detective Dick, actually! Good name for an investigator, don’t you think?” He said this with a big smile and a loud voice. “Yeah, Nick said to look out for a gorgeous Indian babe driving a pale-green tree-hugger car. And here you are, love.”

“Don’t call me love, please. I don’t like it.” He was trying to bait her! “And I doubt Detective Sergeant Drumm said anything of the kind.” She paused while she looked him over. “How long have you been with the YPS?”

“Oh, years and years, love. But I’ve just been transferred to the VCU. Glad it happened, too.” And he smiled at her.

Lori saw a tall, slender man with a thin face and sandy-coloured hair. McDonald looked like he was in his late thirties. He was wearing a leather jacket against the cool fall air, and black slacks. There was still dirt on the back of them. “Don’t call me love – it’s Lori.” She waited to see his reaction but he just raised his Coke can again slightly and smiled. He
did
have a nice smile, she thought, even if he was an ass. A sexist ass, too. She wondered how much of it was genuine and how much an act. Aloud she said, “We need to divide up all these neighbours. How about you start on this side, and I’ll do the other? We talked to most of them yesterday but a few were missed. And maybe overnight some of them remembered something new.”

He looked across the street, then back at her. “Sure,” he said. He tipped up the Coke and drained the last drops from it and then dropped it on the sidewalk where he crushed it with his heel.

He was wearing boots, Lori noticed, cowboy boots they looked like. With pointed toes.

“I just need to have a quick smoke first.” McDonald pulled out a pack of Marlboros from his inside jacket pocket. A lighter materialized in his right hand and a cigarette was lit and in his mouth in no time.

Lori looked down at the crushed can on the sidewalk, then at the smoke issuing from McDonald’s nose, some of which was already assaulting her senses. She resisted the urge to step backwards, and the even stronger urge to bop her new colleague on the nose, and sighed inwardly. Best not to show any reaction at all, she realized. But this case might turn out to be more difficult than she’d thought it would be, if she had to spend a lot of time with McDonald..