The Dead List (14 page)

Banman wasn’t present at the meeting, but from time to time Drake could see him in one of the hallways. Sergeant Thiessen’s door remained closed, and he was once again on the phone. After his summary, Ryberg asked Myron to report again on the man’s financial state. Surprisingly, there were no groans from the crime team officers as they went over information they’d already covered.

“The deceased had no outstanding loans. He had a car loan some years ago that was paid off with the proceeds of the sale of another vehicle. And his bank account fluctuated only with his paycheck coming in every two weeks and all of the funds going back out. It didn’t seem to matter how much he earned – he always spent it all. He had no savings. His mother had invested in a retirement savings plan for him and contributed to it up to ten years ago, but even that had been cashed in about five years ago. He just couldn’t save money.”

Drake thought of his meager rented apartment and his own bank accounts. He was the opposite. He did save money; he had nothing to spend it on.

Ryberg coughed aggressively, leaning off to the side, away from the group. When he finished he apologized and turned back toward the men. “Okay, let’s move on to his place of work. Who interviewed his workmates? I want to know in particular about the woman who listens to her police scanner.”

Myron glanced at Pringle and motioned for him speak. “Myron and I teamed up on those interviews. The young woman is Elizabeth Morrow, widowed two years ago, no dependents, no priors, not even a speeding ticket. She enjoys watching police shows on television, the ones that pretend to be real. From that interest she got herself a scanner. She keeps it tuned in at night sometimes. Lonely lady I guess, but I’m not sure why. She’s a looker, no reason for a woman like that to be single.”

Drake remembered her short skirt and curvy figure as she showed the investigators where Robinson’s desk was, and the way she dabbed at her eyes.

There was a collaborative method to the meetings. Ryberg was definitely in charge, but other than that there were no ranks; everyone was treated equally. Drake had no problem voicing his thoughts. “Wow, her husband must have died young. Is she still grieving perhaps?”

“That’s a negative. He was quite a few years her senior. Husband died of heart-related complications at forty-eight years of age.”

Drake didn’t look at Ryberg to compare thoughts, but he assumed they were thinking the same thing. The age difference between the woman and Parker, the sales manager, would be similar to that of her and her deceased husband.

“And no, I did not get the impression that she was grieving. In fact she didn’t bring him up at all, and when I broached it she seemed fine.”

Ryberg cut in. “What was your overall impression of how Robinson related to his fellow employees? Was he liked, respected, hated?”

Myron spoke up. “I think he’d become part of the furniture. None of them are going to lose too much sleep over his passing. The other salespeople,” he leafed through his notes until he found the names, “there are three of them, and they seemed more concerned about the deals he was working on. They were quite a group – very insincere.”

The coldness of the salespeople didn’t seem to affect the seasoned investigators. They spoke in almost clinical terms, listing their observations. Pringle concurred. “Typical salespeople – fake smiles held on their faces for too long and before we left each of them carded us.”

Ryberg’s eyebrows joined together. “Carded? They asked for your identification?”

“No, they weren’t using police terminology. These folks have their own language. Their manager explained to me that it means giving me their cards and asking for my business. They all did it. They each stressed that if they could be of any help with my next vehicle purchase to be sure and let them know.”

Ryberg rearranged some papers in front of him. “Within the confines of many sales establishments there are contests among salespeople. Sometimes that stretches to gambling. Was there any…”

Myron interrupted. “I went there – hard. During the interviews I approached from every direction I could think of, but nobody was biting. No trips to Vegas, no bookie they all used, in fact more than once I was told that gambling was a sin.”

It didn’t make sense, but he had to ask. Drake jumped in. “So they are all churchgoers?”

Myron didn’t have to check his notes. “First Mennonite – Brian Stam, the senior salesman on staff, even teaches Sunday school at the church. Why do you ask?”

Ryberg nodded encouragingly. “John will elaborate on some thoughts that Sergeant Thiessen has asked us to pursue.”

Drake settled back in his chair. He didn’t believe there was any credibility in his sergeant’s line of inquiry, but he’d mentioned it to Ryberg before leaving to scare the boys at the bar. The investigator felt they had nothing to lose. “Sergeant Thiessen still feels there is a religious aspect to the murder. He’s asked me to question Anton Van Dyke about his connection to First Mennonite Church.” He paused. “Oh, and to report directly back to him with the response.”

Ryberg spoke before anyone could offer an opinion. “Do it. You can be involved when we bring Van Dyke in tomorrow. Your sergeant is suggesting a direction that I would not have considered. Maybe we’ll find something.”

Drake wrote a reminder in his notebook. Then Ryberg asked Myron to elaborate on the poison found in the dead man’s stomach. This time there was a groan from the other officers.

“Botulinum is used in plastic surgery. It’s generally used to enhance facial features and is common in many cosmetic doctors’ offices. I have not been able to find a link between Mr. Robinson and the drug, but somehow it was ingested into his system. The medical examiner cannot tell us if it was in the food he ate that night, but that’s the most likely scenario.”

“So it can be found anywhere?”

“Not quite. You can’t pick it up at the drugstore. There are no plastic surgeons in town, but it can be ordered online.”

There was a frustration within the team; even Ryberg seemed to be discouraged. Drake took a chance. He wasn’t an investigator, but Ryberg had told him to utilize his instincts. “I came across something interesting during a non-related investigation earlier today.”

Ryberg waved his hand in the air, motioning for him to continue.

“Trevor Middleton alluded to the fact that Frank Wilson was involved in some type of business, but wouldn’t specify what he was up to.”

Pringle interrupted. “Legal or illegal?”

Ryberg answered before Drake could continue. “My guess is that it’s illegal, but we were shut down before finding anything else out. Mr. Middleton decided to terminate our conversation. Continue, John.”

“I rounded up some underage drinkers this afternoon – sixteen-year-old boys. Their wallets were stuffed with five and ten dollar bills. They told me they worked for an older guy out on Chilliwack Lake Road who sells firewood.”

In his usual studious manner, Myron didn’t even look up from his notebook. He shook his head slowly. “That doesn’t sound too sinister, just a guy selling firewood.”

Drake agreed. “You’re probably right, but this was a lot of money these kids were carrying.”

Ryberg cocked his chin toward Drake. “Wilson was far too cocky when we spoke to him.” He held his hands up in front of him. “It probably is nothing, but what would it take to find out what he’s up to? A volunteer please.”

Myron smiled, beginning to be converted. “Why don’t I do a little digging? It shouldn’t take too much effort to see what he’s doing. I’ll find out who his neighbors are and give them a call.”

Ryberg’s accent grew stronger the more demonstrative he became. “Yes, a man that arrogant is bound to have some enemies. One of his neighbors will tell you something.”

Drake jumped in. “Bear in mind this business is conducted from his cabin.”

Myron made notes and still did not look up as he responded. “I understand that, but even though he’s conducting his business from his cabin, this town has small-town disease, does it not?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Somebody will know about it, and tell us. He’ll have talked to his neighbor when he was out watering the lawn or mentioned it somewhere. I’ll find it.”

Police work was taking on a whole new dimension for Drake. There was no reason to drive out to Chilliwack Lake Road; many of their inquiries could be made by using a computer and a telephone. And Myron seemed very adept at utilizing both.

Ryberg kept going. “Your report indicated that both of Wilson’s properties are backwards?”

Myron answered. “Yes, his house, and his cabin too. They’re both mortgaged in extreme backward situations. He owes more on the two properties than they’re worth, and he’s been in that position for some years.”

Ryberg cut in. “Well, let’s follow those dots and see where they lead us also. I want that inquiry followed up.” There was no need to look at the clock; they all knew how late the day was getting, but Ryberg glanced at it anyway. “Tomorrow morning, let’s deal with it then.”

Myron nodded, still taking notes.

Ryberg wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. It looked as though he was going to start coughing again, but then he regained his breath. “We’re running out of time, gentlemen. We need to find some kind of path or logic that will take us to the next step. As some of you know, I will be unavailable for several hours over the next few days.” None of the officers from Vancouver – Pringle, Myron, or even Adam, the Ident officer – reacted. They all seemed to know the reason even though Drake did not.

Drake gave the officers his own puzzled look. It was Pringle who answered. “Don’t worry; I’m going to run the show in Investigator Ryberg’s absence. We’ll keep going.”

Ryberg took over again. “When we interview Anton Van Dyke and his friend tomorrow, let’s hit them with everything we have. Maybe we missed something there. And are we certain that Franco Morrison’s alibi is legitimate?”

Myron answered. “I re-interviewed his witnesses after Corporal Pringle spoke to them. They were sitting in his living room watching a hockey game. No hesitation at all from any of them. They all vouch for him being present from midafternoon until later that night.”

“I don’t care. I want to talk to Franco again. He knows the streets in this town – the real streets. Let’s shake him and see if anything falls out.”

Ryberg turned over a piece of paper he had in front of him. He read the official looking form as though he’d never seen it before, then looked up at the officers. “Gentlemen, as I suspected we have another forty-eight hours before some of us are allocated to another investigation.”

He turned to Drake. “You weren’t part of the earlier discussion, John. The priority level of the Robinson investigation has been lowered. There’s someone running around Surrey hitting citizens with a hammer. The last victim is in intensive care, and it’s not looking good. The media are already calling him The Hammer Man in the papers.” Drake remembered reading the headline in the newspaper, but not the story. “If the victim in intensive care dies and the killer becomes the Hammer Murderer, then we have a serious problem. Manpower is already stretched thin, so we will lose our forensic specialist.” He nodded at Adam who squeezed his lips together and stifled a smile. It appeared as though he was glad to be leaving Hope. “And one of our investigators will also be reassigned.” Pringle nodded and Myron looked up from his notebook. “So let’s follow up the leads we discovered with a vengeance over the next couple of days. There has to be someone out there who knows the why or how of Mr. Robinson’s murder.”

Ryberg’s expression changed from his usual friendly demeanor as he turned to Adam, the young officer, and snapped at him. “Ident - forensics report, please.”

He began immediately and spoke as though he were addressing a large roomful of people. “I’m sorry to say that I have found nothing unusual at all. There was a partial thumbprint on the deceased’s driver’s license that is a probable match with Anton Van Dyke.”

Ryberg interrupted. “We have his admission that he lifted the wallet and removed the credit cards, leaving the driver’s license in his pocket. So that would correspond.”

“Yes, exactly. We requested a rush on DNA results and fortunately, as you mentioned, the Hammer Man hasn’t killed anyone yet, so we were able to receive results back from the lab quite quickly.”

An uncomfortable silence hung over the group, but the young man didn’t seem to notice. He adjusted his glasses and stared at his notes. “We were unable to lift anything from Robinson’s vehicle because the detail staff at the dealership had cleaned it. His room in his home held no surprises…”

It didn’t make sense. Drake interrupted the officer. “When was it cleaned?”

Adam began to question the interruption, but a look from Ryberg sent him back to his notes. “The vehicle was cleaned the morning after the murder.”

“Was that normal?”

He put his notebook on the table and stared at Drake. “I did not ask.”

It might be something. Maybe.

Ryberg heard it too. “Who’s got Parker, the sales manager, for his re-interview?”

Pringle nodded. “He’s on my list.”

“What’s your schedule looking like?” Ryberg gave a half-smile as he seemed to be trying to determine whether Pringle was working any overtime.

“Drake and I are paying another visit to the residents of Cobalt Street this evening. Mr. Parker is scheduled for tomorrow morning.”

“That’s fine, stay with that. John, pick up Dave Parker first thing in the morning tomorrow; let’s question him at the station this time. I want to know why the car was cleaned and whether the cleaning took place after you and I interviewed him or before. Remember, he knew the car had stayed there all night. And then there were the keys – he checked with the woman at the front on the location of the keys.”

Ryberg motioned for Adam to continue. The Ident officer began to object, but then dropped his head to his notes and continued listing off his findings, or lack of findings. “Examination of his home living space was uneventful. Deceased’s home computer had a virus and has been unused in eighteen months. When we uncluttered the system there was nothing suspicious – a couple of pornography sites, lots of car information. And his work computer contained normal activity.”