The Homeless Killer

by Claude Bouchard

  “Everyone has the right to live their life in a safe environment,” Dave quietly responded.

  “I’m just rather touched to be witness of such a humane opinion coming from one of our finer public servants,” insisted William. “Quite the opposite of what I get from the morons running this city and its boroughs.”

  Dave cracked into a smile before replying. “Don’t expect my opinion on that subject Mr. Enright. It has something to do with biting and the hand that feeds me. Have a good day.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  “…yes, she was homeless, a street person. But a person none the less. How many other such victims will we have if the heartless tyrants who rule Ville-Marie push them out of the squares? Dozens? Hundreds? Does it matter? Not to Mayor Laforge and his cronies, especially that genius Deputy-Mayor Lévesque.”

  “The bastard,” exclaimed Pierre Lévesque, rising from the couch in Mayor Laforge’s office where the two were watching the midday news.

  “Quiet,” growled the mayor. “I want to hear what the bastard has to say.”

  William Enright continued his impromptu exposé at his morning’s impromptu ‘press conference’.

  “It may seem strange to you; it may seem strange to many, but when these people gather for the night in one of the downtown squares, they are in their community. They are with their people. They feel safe because they are safe. Push them out of that secure environment and they will be vulnerable. They will become prey to hoodlums and gangs, and some may end up like this man found on Mount-Royal or this poor old woman here.”

  “He does know how to speak,” admitted Laforge.

  “Fucking sermons is what he does,” spat out Lévesque as Enright continued on the screen.

  “I knew of this woman,” said Enright softly. “I had heard of her and seen her on the streets of Old Montreal. She was not annoying to the residents, to the store-owners, to the tourists, to the restaurateurs. The restaurants fed her. The tourists chatted with her. Business owners and residents left their garages open so that she might have a warmer place to sleep at night. She was in an area she considered safe, she considered home, and someone took her life. Think of what will happen to all of those whose home is in one of the public squares. What will happen to them when they are thrown outside of their space of security? I shudder when I think of it.”

  He took a couple of deep breaths and squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment, composing himself.

  “And the Oscar goes to…” snorted Lévesque in the mayor’s office.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the press,” resumed William Enright. “I thank you for allowing me these few moments to share my anguish with you. You have the power to influence the citizens of the Ville-Marie borough so that they may in turn let the individuals they’ve elected know that we must take care of our people. Two such murders are quite enough. Thank-you.”

  “Why doesn’t he just run for fucking office,” muttered the deputy-mayor as he snapped off the television.

  “Be careful what you wish for, Pierre,” the mayor warned. “The fucker just might win.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  “As usual, that was delicious,” stated Deputy-Mayor Pierre Lévesque. “Try as I might, I always end up going for the dumplings in peanut sauce as an appetizer here.”

  “I can’t disagree,” replied Christiane, his wife. “But the main reason I like to come here is the General Tao Chicken; best in Montreal.”

  “You know me,” commented Borough Councillor Jacques Bédard. “I love everything on Le Piment Rouge’s menu but,”

  “You come here for the wine list,” his wife, Yvette, finished the sentence.

  As they laughed, the waiter came to remove the empty dishes, making room for the entrees soon to be served. Relaxing with fine food and finer company was a wonderful way to end another hard day’s work at the borough office for Deputy-Mayor Lévesque.

  “So Jacques, are the renovations finished on the cottage?” asked Lévesque.

  “Not quite,” admitted Bédard. “You know how it is with contractors. They never do things exactly as agreed, which causes delays. But it’s down to a few exterior details now. Actually, Yvette is driving down tonight to meet with the contractor tomorrow morning.”

  “Really? Well, we better not keep you up too late then, young lady and watch that you don’t drink too…” teased Lévesque before muttering, “Oh fuck.”

  “What is it?” Christiane asked with concern.

  “Pardon my language,” apologized Pierre to his party. “It’s just that Will Enright just walked in. Ah, goddamn, he saw me and he’s coming this way.”

  “Bon, bon, Pierre,” Christiane whispered in a soothing voice. “Nothing to worry about. The man won’t make a scene in a public place like this, now will he?”

  “I’m not so sure. He’s a crazy mother-fucker,” muttered Lévesque, adding, “Sorry, Ladies.”

  Enright approached with a stunning thirty-something damsel on his arm. A career bachelor, he always seemed to have a lovely female friend to accompany him on his nights about town.

  “Good Evening, Ladies,” Enright graciously said, bowing slightly. “Deputy-Mayor, Councillor.”

  “Good Evening, Mr. Enright,” Lévesque tersely replied with a nod.

  “Allow me to introduce you to an old friend from New York,” Enright went on. “Victoria Alstrom. Vicky heads up the Edmund Alstrom Foundation over there.”

  A chorus of polite hellos emanated from Lévesque’s party.

  “I’m not familiar with your foundation,” Christiane Lévesque stated cordially, attempting small talk to maintain the civil tone of the conversation.

  “It was founded by my grandfather, bless his soul,” replied Ms. Alstrom, “To help the homeless in New York City. We offer financial assistance to shelters as well as operate shelters of our own. We have also established three schools where street kids can come to finish their studies through to high school, learn a trade, that kind of thing, free of charge. A scholarship programme now exists allowing some to even pursue college or university education.”

  “In fact, we have been so encouraged by Vicky’s success in this direction,” Enright commented, “That a section of the new Overdale shelter has been foreseen as a school. We’re currently wrapping up final details with the Ministry of Education and our curriculum will be recognized as valid high school education.”

  “Well, I think that’s wonderful,” exclaimed Christiane. “I congratulate you for your endeavours.”

  “We’re miles behind the progress the Alstrom Foundation has achieved to date,” Enright humbly admitted. “And that success is thanks to Vicky’s non-stop efforts and, of course, the open-mindedness of New York City’s government representatives. I certainly must commend you, Mrs. Lévesque, for your positive attitude towards what groups like Vicky’s and mine are trying to accomplish. I must confess that I am a bit surprised.”

  “Now see here, Mister Enright,” the deputy-mayor growled. “We are trying to have a quiet dinner here and have attempted to be cordial.”

  “I don’t quite understand,” Enright replied, looking puzzled. “I was simply complimenting your lovely wife for demonstrating a level of intelligence obviously much superior to, shall we say, yours.”

  “That’s it, Enright,” Lévesque raised his tone as he stood, drawing glances from other diners. “You just get the hell away from me if you know what’s good for you.”

  “Are you threatening me, Mister Deputy-Mayor?” asked Enright in a low, menacing tone, stepping in closer to Lévesque. “I suggest that you sit your sorry butt back in your chair and continue enjoying your dinner because, you just never know; it could be your last.”

  Before Lévesque could respond, Enright turned on his heel, offered his arm to Victoria Alstrom and headed for the waiting maitre d’.

  “He just threatened you, Pierre,” Bédard exclaimed in a hushed tone.

  “I don’t like this, honey,” his wife, Christiane, added.

  �
��Can we all just forget about this?” pleaded Lévesque. “It’s just angry talk. We could say that I threatened him too.”

  “Not to the extent that he did,” argued Bédard.

  “Really, Enright is just a flamboyant kind of character,” insisted the deputy-mayor. “Let’s just move past this and enjoy dinner. Ah, there we go. Here comes our chicken.”

  Chapter 5 – Wednesday, July 5, 2006

  Pierre Lévesque had been born an athlete. As soon as he could crawl, he was always on the move. He had barely started walking when he learned to run. Tee-ball quickly led to baseball. When baseball season was over, football came into play, converging with hockey each year until the cycle started anew. He had completed his studies at McGill on a full sports scholarship where he had quarterbacked for the Redmen football team and played centre for the Redmen hockey team as their captain.

  Although approached by professional league scouts for both sports, Lévesque’s professional dream had always been politics, where he had proved he could also excel over the years. However, sports and physical fitness remained a passion and, at the age of forty-two, he still jogged five miles per weekday year round, played tennis and golf in the summer with skiing and racquet ball being his winter sports.

  As he did any weekday morning, the deputy-mayor turned on his iPod and trotted out into the driveway of his spacious home on St-Sulpice Road at 5:00 a.m. There, he did his usual stretching and warm-up routine, then headed northeast towards Atwater Avenue. As he reached the fork at Picquet Road, he glanced back to check for oncoming traffic. An automobile, a Chrysler Sebring he believed, was approaching but Lévesque had plenty of time to cross Picquet before the car got there. He continued at his pace, looking ahead once again, enjoying Canon de Pachelbel in D. As he reached the centre of Picquet Road, the Sebring, which had suddenly rapidly accelerated, hit Lévesque dead on, sending him flying into the air, literally over the car before landing in a crumpled heap by the side of the road.

  The automobile slowed at the corner of Atwater, checking for oncoming traffic, before turning right and disappearing from sight.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  “You wanted to see me, Bernard?” asked Jacques Bédard as he entered the borough mayor’s office.

  “Yes, Jacques,” replied Mayor Laforge, looking grim. “Please, come in and close the door.”

  “Sure thing,” said Bédard. “Is something wrong?”

  “Yes, something is definitely wrong,” Laforge answered gravely. “It’s Pierre.”

  “What about Pierre?” enquired Bédard. “We had dinner together last night and he was fine.”

  “He was hit by a car this morning when he was out jogging,” announced the mayor.

  “Oh mon dieu,” exclaimed Jacques. “Is he alright?”

  “He’s alive,” replied Laforge. “But in very serious condition. A neighbour found him on the side of the road not far from home. He was taken to the Montreal General, in intensive care. He’s in a coma, a lot of internal bleeding; they really aren’t sure that he’s going to make it.”

  “Do they know who hit him?” queried Bédard, obviously shocked. “Did anyone see what happened?”

  “No, no witnesses,” Laforge shook his head. “He was found at around 5:15 and he had left the house at 5:00, according to Christiane; lucky for him that this neighbour’s a jogger too.”

  “How’s Christiane holding up?” asked Jacques.

  “I haven’t spoken to her directly. The police contacted me to let me know what happened. They’re the ones who informed Christiane and took her to the hospital. How someone can hit a human being and simply drive away is beyond me.”

  “Something happened at dinner yesterday that I better tell you about, Bernard,” announced Jacques.

  He proceeded to recount the details of the conversation and altercation at Le Piment Rouge with William Enright the previous evening.

  “So Enright actually threatened him?” The mayor asked incredulously.

  “It was clearly a threat in my mind,” insisted Bédard. “Both Christiane and Yvette heard it too. Christiane was definitely troubled with Enright’s words, as I was, but Pierre just blew it off as a lot of talk.”

  “Well, this certainly needs to be looked into by the police,” declared Laforge as he reached for the phone. “Yes, Diane. Get me Director Savard on the phone as soon as possible. This is quite urgent. Thanks.”

  “If Enright had anything to do with this,” said Laforge after hanging up the phone, “I’ll make sure he rots in jail. In the meantime, Jacques, I will need your help with some of the projects Pierre was working on.”

  “Absolument,” Bédard assured the mayor. “You can count on me.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  “Sure, Alain, I understand,” Dave McCall said into the phone. “Any further news on his condition? I see. Well, keep me posted and I’ll do the same on my end. Yes sir, talk to you soon.”

  “Whoa,” he said as he hung up the phone, looking at Frank who was perched on the small conference table in the captain’s office. “We’ve got a doozy this time.”

  “What’s up?” asked Frank, wondering what the conversation with the director had been about.

  “Hang on a second,” said Dave, going to the open door of his office. “Jo, Tim, you want to come here for a bit?”

  He sat back down as his two other senior detectives entered.

  “What’s up?” asked Joanne Nelson.

  “I just got off the phone with Director Savard,” McCall started. “Pierre Lévesque, Deputy-Mayor of this fine borough was hit by a car this morning a bit after five; hit and run.”

  “Whoa,” said Tim Harris. “How is he?”

  “Not good,” admitted the captain.

  “But he’s not dead?” Frank queried.

  “Not so far but the doctors aren’t very optimistic,” Dave replied.

  “Why is Savard coming to you with this?” asked Joanne. “Do we think it was intentional?”

  “That’s where this gets more interesting,” answered McCall. “Yesterday evening, Lévesque was having dinner at Le Piment Rouge,”

  “Great Tao chicken,” Frank piped in.

  “Yeah, Frank,” Dave muttered. “This is all about the chicken.”

  “Sorry,” Frank grinned. “Go on, boss.”

  “Thanks. Lévesque was having dinner with Councillor Jacques Bédard and their spouses. William Enright came in, went over to say ‘hello’, the conversation turned to insults from Enright towards Lévesque. Lévesque warned Enright to back off and it would seem that Enright threatened him, something to the effect of enjoying his dinner, it might be his last.”

  “Whoa,” said Harris once again. “Has anyone spoken to Enright?”

  “Nope,” the captain replied. “That’s where we come in. We have an apparent threat followed by a hit and run less than twelve hours later. If the two are related, it’s currently attempted murder and could become murder depending how Lévesque fares. The Director felt that this should come to our shop because ‘we’re the best’ is how he said it.”

  “Well, there is truth to that statement,” Joanne declared solemnly as her two peers nodded.

  “There is indeed,” Dave smiled. “I’ve been informed that this is top priority so, Jo, Tim, you’re off to Lévesque’s neighbourhood, door-to-door to try to find anything useful. Frank, here are the names of the cops from Station 20 who went to investigate the scene this morning. Contact them and get everything they have and pass it on to Joanne and Tim once you have it. When you’re done, you and I will go over to the hospital and speak to the doctors and Mrs. Lévesque.

  “It’s a go,” said Joanne as she and Harris rose from their seats. “What about Enright?”

  “Mr. Enright strikes me as a very bright man,” McCall replied with a tight smile. “Let’s see what we can come up with first before chatting with him.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  The young man looked down at his younger friend in despair as she stuffed what few belonging
s she had into her battered packsack.

  “But where you gonna go?” he whined. “I tell you that we’re safe here.”

  ‘Here’ was Chaboillez Square in front of the Dow Planetarium where the two had been crashing for several weeks.

  “Adam, you want to stay here, that’s fine,” Skye replied with finality. “I’m going. You saw in the paper just like me; some wacko is out here killing people like us. Life ain’t grand but I’m nineteen; I got time for it to get better so I don’t wanna die. I’m gonna find a place away from downtown where people don’t get killed as much.”

  “But, I want to stay with you, Skye,” Adam mumbled. “I like you.”

  She looked up at him, smiled then suddenly sprung upwards and kissed him quickly but squarely on the mouth.

  “Then get your shit together and let’s go,” she said firmly, knowing now that he’d follow.

  “Alright,” Adam whined again, this time in defeat. “What’s the plan?”

  “What I was thinking,” Skye replied in a low, conspiratorial tone, “Was going to Lucien-l’Allier and hopping on one of those commuter trains and go to wherever it takes us.”

  “How we gonna pay for the train?” Adam questioned, hoping for a loophole in her plan as he bundled up the little he owned in an old flannel shirt.

  “We don’t haveta,” Skye replied triumphantly. “Teddy told me that they hardly ever check for tickets.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  “Excuse me. May I speak to you two for a minute?” the stranger said.

  Skye looked at the man warily, wondering what the hell he wanted. He didn’t look like a train employee, dressed like he was, good clothes but sporty with a baseball cap and sunglasses. Maybe he was an undercover train dick or something.

  “What about?” asked Adam, trying to look tough and sullen but coming across more like nervous and worried.