A Striking Death (12 page)

thirty-five

Lori Singh and McDonald were working at their desks in the VCU office when Drumm returned. There didn’t appear to be a lot of communication going on between them.

“He wants to see you.” Drumm gestured to McDonald with his thumb back behind him.  “Again.”

Dick shot him a look but didn’t say anything as he left.

Drumm glanced around the room. The Violent Crimes Unit took up a relatively small amount of space at the York Police Services. Drumm had his own office, as did Chappell, but the other detectives worked in a common area, each with a desk and computer. There were interview rooms, a small kitchen and a conference room. Established when York was a much smaller city, the VCU was getting busier every year. It was beginning to bulge at the seams, in fact, and they were increasingly short of space. And money. Just now there was the normal buzz of activity. It was hardly the spot for private conversations.

“Let’s meet in my office, Lori.”

Lori followed him in and sat down, crossing her legs.

Drumm said, “Right. Chappell’s taken Dick away again.” He raised his hand to still her protest. “It’s alright, it’s necessary. He should be back with us tomorrow. For now we’ll just have to do the best we can. Any thoughts on our cases?”

Lori opened her notebook. “Well, yes. I’m certain that Levine’s murder is connected to Billinger’s, and that the order is important. Billinger first, and then Levine, and the second one done in such a way as to try to throw us off the track. The killer wanted to get away with Billinger’s murder – it wasn’t a crime of passion so much as a planned execution.”

Drumm objected, “But the way Billinger was killed? The number of hits? That’s a crime of passion, Lori, surely.”

“Yes, definitely, during the actual execution. It looks like he lost control and he just kept bashing away. A man who gave himself up to a black rage. But….the whole thing was meticulously planned, wasn’t it? He stood out there in the dark, waiting for the right time. He’d probably been there before, knew where to stand, knew Billinger’s habits, knew there wouldn’t be a barking dog. He’d scouted out how to get in the house, knew where Billinger’s bedroom was. He might even have known Billinger took sleeping pills. He left no trace of himself, other than the bat, which he could easily have taken with him. So he must know we have little chance of tracing it back to him.”

Drumm was looking at her, amused. “You have all of that written down in your notes?”

Lori blushed. “Not all of it.”

“Go on.”

“Well, Levine’s murder shows the same pattern. If we thought Levine killed Billinger, then we’d close the case – close two cases actually – and he’d get away with it.”

Drumm objected. “It was a pretty amateurish hanging attempt.”

“It almost fooled me, didn’t it? He obviously didn’t know the Coroner would see through it so easily.” Lori stretched in her chair. “The point is he planned it all, just like he planned Billinger’s. Two executions.”

Drumm asked, “And his motive?”

Lori smiled. “Ah, well we don’t really know, do we? Gay bashing? Something personal?”

Drumm sat forward in his chair. “The second murder was done to close the books on the first one. He wasn’t to know it wouldn’t work. But it did accomplish one thing.”

“What’s that?”

Drumm sat back. “It delayed us. We were concentrating on Levine, thinking he might have killed his lover, so we’ve neglected Billinger.”

“Delayed us? Billinger only died three days ago, more or less.”

Drumm said, “I know that. But without Levine’s death, we would have been digging deeper into Billinger’s background. And that’s what we have to do now. Because I think you are absolutely right when you say the two cases are connected, and that Billinger’s murder was an execution – one that was planned and carried out most carefully. The question is why.”

Lori said, “So, what are we going to do?”

Drumm looked up at her and raised three fingers. “One, we’re going to keep trying to trace the bat. Dick made a start but didn’t get far. Two, we’re going to go back to Danny’s and see if we can get anywhere in tracking down Mr. Bald Businessman. And three, we are going to look carefully at Arthur Billinger’s past.”

Lori sat down again. “Alright. What do you want me to do? The bat?”

“No, we’ll leave the bat. I don’t have much expectation there. I want you to go to Danny’s and see if anyone else has seen our Mr. X with the diamond stud earring. Can you talk to the staff and the clientele and find out what they know about him, as well as Levine and Billinger?”

Lori was nodding. “Sure. And you’ll start investigating Billinger’s background?”

Drumm stood up, indicating the meeting was over. “I will. But first I have to call Emily.”

thirty-six

Cruising along in his Grand Prix, Detective Dick McDonald was listening to the lively strings of the first part of Vivaldi’s Autumn. The cheery music never failed to bring a smile to his face. He often listened to it when he was in a bad temper to help improve his mood. Such wasn’t the case right now, though; he was pleased with his lot.

He didn’t mind his assignment for Staff Inspector Chappell. He would have preferred to have kept on investigating the two murders but helping catch a young stalker was an interesting challenge. And doing a favour for a superior officer was never a bad idea.

The music had switched to the more lugubrious second part of Autumn, a piece he didn’t like so much. The third was better, but it was the first section that he enjoyed the most. He would sometimes play it over and over. Of the Four Seasons, Autumn was his favourite.

McDonald had the idea that he was more of a bodyguard for Mrs. Chappell than an investigator. Still, he was happy to please the Staff Inspector. He hadn’t been much use so far, though. He’d tried showing Mrs. Chappell mug shots of known sexual offenders, and when that was no use, the complete range of criminals of all types. He had struck out; she hadn’t recognized anyone. To be fair, although she’d seen the guy three times, the first time his face had been partly covered by his hoodie, the second time he had been some distance way with a camera in front of his face, and the third time she had only caught a glimpse of him in the dark. And he might not be on file anywhere in any case.

He’d tried looking for the dirty white van but there were simply too many white vans out there, and she had no clue what make it was. So he was pretty much out of ideas and stuck with the bodyguard duty.

McDonald parked on the street several doors down from Mrs. Chappell’s house. He scanned the street for possible trouble, saw none and walked up to her front door.

Mrs. Chappell opened the door and gave him a nervous smile. “Hello, Dick. Mark telephoned to say you were on your way again. I’m sorry to be such a pain. It’s good of you. Come in.”

“It’s no trouble, Celeste. I’m pleased to help you. Especially such a beautiful damsel in distress.” McDonald gave her his best, charming grin.

Celestine Chappell was a tall, thin woman with surprisingly smooth skin for a woman her age. McDonald knew she was fifty-nine but she appeared much younger, despite her white hair. It was partly the way she dressed too, and her obvious energy. She was wearing tight blue jeans this morning and a white, silk blouse, and she had her long hair pulled back in a ponytail. McDonald hadn’t seen too many women of her vintage look the way she did.

“Dick, you’ll never change. Come and have some coffee.”

McDonald had actually thought about seriously flirting with Celeste Chappell despite her age – he was only thirty-seven – but was wise enough to know that that path would lead to disaster. Attractive and separated she might be but she was still his boss’ wife. He was not about to derail his career over her. He took off his leather jacket and hung it up in her front closet and followed her into the kitchen.

“Have you seen anything of Mr. Creepy, Celeste?”

“Not since Wednesday, no. Thank goodness.” She handed him a mug of coffee.

“Thanks. That’s good, then. What are your plans for today?”

Celeste sat down at the table and crossed her legs. “I am having lunch with a friend. At Raymond’s. Do you know it? Over on Church Street.”

McDonald nodded. “I’ll be there too, then. I’ll get another table. Keep an eye out for blue hoodies and white vans outside.”

Celeste said, “Are you sure? It’s such an inconvenience for you. And surely it’s safe there?”

“Oh, I don’t think he would try anything there. But if he shows up again watching you, then your husband wants me there to grab him. What about after the lunch date?”

“Then I will be volunteering at the food bank. I help stock the shelves on Friday afternoons.”

“I know where that is too. Okay, here’s what we’ll do. You’ll leave here first when you’re ready to go out. I’ll follow a minute or so later. After your lunch date, I’ll be behind you on your way to the food bank. I’ll be watching for white vans. By the way, it’s important that you never acknowledge my presence today at all.”

Celeste nodded. “I understand.”

“Okay. I’ll be outside keeping the food bank under observation. If nothing happens, I’ll follow you home. You can order something in for dinner for us.” He raised his hand as he could see she was about to protest. “Staff Inspector’s orders. He also wants me to stay the night. He has a plan, which has a good chance of success, if Mr. Creepy shows up. Here’s what he wants to do.”

McDonald outlined for her what Staff Inspector Chappell had suggested earlier in his office.

When he was finished, Celeste nodded thoughtfully. “That might work,” she said.

thirty-seven

Lori Singh was sitting in her Prius in the station parking lot, thinking. Thinking about Drumm’s last comment about calling Emily. She had wanted to ask him what he intended to say but she bit her tongue and left his office quietly. She had said nothing, just raised her eyebrows and gone to her desk.

She reflected on the events of the past twenty-four hours. Drumm had looked so vulnerable sitting beside his car, sweating and shaking. She had never imagined she would see him like that. And then when he had showed up so unexpectedly at her apartment this morning, she was first surprised and then pleased to see him. He was back to looking his normal self, despite getting hardly any sleep. Pleased? She smiled to herself. Maybe that wasn’t the right word. She had carefully hidden her feelings, though, and waited to find out why he was there. And then all that stuff about diabetes and Emily. Especially Emily. She had to admit that she was glad things weren’t working out between he and his girlfriend, even though she knew it made him unhappy.

Lori came to herself with a start, suddenly realizing that she was sitting daydreaming in a parking lot behind the wheel of her car. Anyone seeing her would think that strange. She turned the key in the ignition. The engine came to life. Right now he was speaking to Emily. What were they saying to each other?
Stop it!
Get over to Danny’s and do your job.

thirty-eight

“I’m sorry, Nick. Emily isn’t here.” Janice, the receptionist at Emily Graham Real Estate, was polite. “You could try paging her.”

“I’ve done that. She’s not answering.”

Janice sounded distant. “She’s probably busy in a showing.”

Drumm hung up, after leaving a request for Emily to call him. Busy in a showing? He doubted that.

His mind went back to the events of the past twenty-four hours. Had he done the right thing by going over to Lori Singh’s apartment? He wasn’t sure. He was embarrassed about fainting and losing control like that. He’d just wanted to apologize. But then he’d opened his mouth and talked on and on about Emily. At first he’d felt good about his chat with Lori but now he wasn’t so sure. What must she think of him?

His cellphone rang. He was surprised to see that it was Emily. He thought she had been avoiding him.

“Hello, Em.” Which would she be? Teary and apologetic? Or chilly and critical?

“Hi, Nicky! What are you doing?”

“I’m at work. Getting ready to go out.” It was neither. This was normal Emily.

“Any chance of lunch? I’m busy for another hour or so but then I can get away.”

It was like nothing had happened between them, the harsh words of the day before forgotten. “No chance at all, Em, I’m afraid. I’ll be eating on the run today. Two unsolved murders.”

“Alright, I understand.” Emily sounded disappointed but not upset.

She had behaved like this before, of course, extremely disturbed one day and acting like nothing had happened the next. It was always disconcerting when it happened, though, and especially now, given the circumstances.

“I’ll see you after work then.” And she hung up, leaving Drumm shaking his head.

He just never knew with her. How much more of this could he take? Shit! Why did everything have to be so complicated!

He grabbed his jacket, still distracted, and headed out to his car.

thirty-nine

It was before the lunch hour rush so Lori was able to slide the Prius into a parking spot close to Danny’s. She hadn’t been here before but she liked Fifth Street with its row of mature maples. It reminded her of one of Paris’ boulevards. Most of the leaves were down and swirling around in a blustery wind. She pulled her coat tight around her and hurried into the bistro.

It was dark inside and she had trouble seeing anything after the glare outside. As her eyes became accustomed to the gloom, she saw a row of empty stools in front of a gleaming bar, and a dining section off to the left with a couple of tables occupied. She didn’t see any staff around so she slipped onto one of the stools and put her coat beside her.

A man in his twenties dressed in a white shirt and a maroon-coloured vest materialized behind the bar. “Morning, miss. Help you?”

Lori showed her badge. “I surely hope so. Detective Lori Singh, Violent Crimes Unit, YPS. You’re not Guido, are you?”

The bartender looked carefully at her. “I am not. I’m Dean. What can I do for you?”

Lori carefully placed two photographs on the bar. “We’re investigating two murders, Arthur Billinger and Daniel Levine. Both these men came to Danny’s occasionally. Do you recognize them?”

Dean picked up the photos and scrutinized them, then put them back down. “I’ve seen them before. When they were together, they’d sit at one of the tables. Sometimes this guy would sit here by himself.” Dean indicated the photo of Arthur Billinger.

“How often did they come here, would you say?”

Dean smiled, showing even white teeth. “They were what I would call the infrequent regulars. Men who would eat here every month or two. The regulars would be here a lot more often than that.”

Lori was studying him. He almost looked like a college kid, with his boyish looks and intelligent face. “What’s your last name, Dean?”

“It’s Barber. But I decided to be a bartender instead.” He smiled again.

The kid was cute, thought Lori. “You look like a student. How long have you worked here?”

“I
was
a student. In psychology. I graduated last year and couldn’t get a job. Guido took me on full time. But I’ve worked part-time here for four years, so I know most of the customers. Not by name, of course, just their faces mostly.”

Lori said, “Can I get a club soda, please? I would imagine being a psych major would come in handy in this job.”

Dean put her drink in front of her. “I have lots of opportunity to study people, for sure. It’s an interesting place to work.”

Lori took a sip. “Are you gay, Dean?”

He grinned again. Lori could see that it was something he did frequently. “It’s not a condition of employment. No, I’m not. I have a girlfriend. Had. We just broke up.”

“You knew these two men were gay?”

Dean said, “Oh, yes. I could tell. I mean, they weren’t obvious about it but I knew.”

Lori thought about this. “How?”

“Aside from eating in a gay bistro, do you mean?” He laughed. “It’s the little things, like the way they walk, what they do with their hands, that sort of thing.” Dean was polishing an already shiny bar top. “Some of our customers are open about their relationship, but these two weren’t so much.”

“Do you think everybody would have known they were gay? Or was it just because you’d worked here so long that you could tell?”

Dean grinned again. “No special insight for me, just experience. Anybody would know after a bit, I guess.”

Lori took another sip of her club soda. “The reason I’m asking, it’s possible somebody sat here, maybe right here at this bar, or maybe at another table, and studied these men.” She pointed at the two photos. “Stalked them. Somebody who didn’t like gay men. If so, that’s who we’re trying to find.”

Dean’s smile was gone and he was looking concerned. “I see. You want to know if I noticed anybody giving them the evil eye?”

“Maybe, or just studying them, paying more attention to them than what would be normal. Did you ever see that?”

“We get our share of cruisers but I don’t remember anyone paying attention to these two.”

Lori persisted. “Specifically, we are interested in a businessman-type, dressed in a suit and tie, in his forties with cropped grey hair and a diamond stud in his right ear. Ring any bells?”

Dean was doubtful. “We get a lot of businessmen, lots of earrings. I can’t recall anybody like that.” He looked disappointed. “Sorry, I’m not much help.”

Danny’s was starting to fill up as the lunch crowd entered. One of the servers came over with a drink order now and Dean was busy for a few minutes. Lori could see how efficient he was at his job, and also that he would be increasingly difficult to talk to. She was nearly finished anyway.

She waited until he had a minute again and said, “You don’t work seven nights a week, surely?”

Dean grinned. “Guido’s not that much of a slave driver. There’s another guy, Craig; he comes in two days a week.”

Lori slid her card over to him. “Do me a favour, Dean. Ask him if he noticed anyone paying close attention to these two, would you? Today, please, if you can.” She tapped the two photographs. “I’ll leave these here. And call and tell me what he says.”

Dean nodded. “Sure,” he said.

“One last thing, Dean. I’m hungry – what do you recommend?”