The man approached a step and lowered his voice, “I just noticed the two of you and you really don’t look like commuter train types. I can almost guarantee that if an inspector sees you, you’ll be asked for your tickets and I’m guessing that you don’t have any.”
“So what’s it to you if we do or not?” snapped Skye. “How the hell is it your business?”
“My, my but aren’t you a nasty one,” the man said with humour. “I’ve had my tougher times when I was your age, did some travelling alone with little or no money and I always appreciated a kindly soul who’d decide to help out. I try to do the same nowadays since I can afford to repay some of the kindness I received.”
Skye watched the man as she listened and, besides seeming a bit goofy and proper, like maybe a priest would be, she wasn’t getting any bad vibes.
“And, how were you planning to help us?” she asked, still not sure if she should trust him.
“I simply wanted to give you these,” replied the man, pulling two valid train tickets from his pocket and extending them out to Skye. “To be honest with you, I happened to be walking in behind you and it was obvious you didn’t quite know where you were going.”
“Yeah, go on,” Skye insisted while glancing down at the proffered tickets.
The man smiled and continued. “Taking a wild guess that you didn’t have tickets, I stopped at the wicket to buy these for you. It’s nothing but a few dollars for me. I told you, I give back when I can.”
“Well, I guess it’s ok if you’re just being nice,” Skye admitted hesitantly, still wondering if there was a catch. “What do you think, Adam?”
“It’s alright, I-I guess,” Adam mumbled nervously.
“Well, there you go,” the man said, putting the tickets in Skye’s hand.
“Le prochain train se dirige vers St-Jérôme – The next train is heading for St-Jerome,” The staticky voice boomed over the P.A. system.
“You can take that train with these tickets,” the man informed them, “Although I don’t know what your plans are or where you were thinking of going.”
“We don’t want to go too far,” Adam replied, still not keen on leaving the downtown core.
“You’re planning to do some camping, something like that?” the man asked pleasantly.
“Uh, yeah, maybe. We’re not sure yet,” Skye answered uncertainly.
“The reason I was asking is that I could suggest somewhere that might suit you,” the man informed them. “Where this train crosses the river to Laval, there’s a little island, Perry Island on the Montreal side. It’s nice and woodsy and quiet. I thought that if you were thinking of camping, it would be a good spot and not too far. Just so you know.”
“Does the train stop there?” asked Adam, thinking of the possibilities; alone with Skye on a private, wooded island.
“No,” the man smiled again. “If you did decide to go there, you’d be best to get off at Bois-de-Boulogne and then walk the rest of the way, a couple of miles maybe. Once you’re there, there’s a pedestrian crossing on the railroad bridge so you can cross over to Laval if you like. It’s very nice.”
“Well, ok, we’ll think about it,” said Skye, kind of hoping that the man would leave now.
As if reading her mind, the man said, “Well, I’m certain that I’ve troubled you enough. You certainly don’t want to spend the whole day chatting with an old duffer like me. You two be careful out there.”
With a wave, the man was off, walking away down the platform and through the doors.
“Nice enough guy, I guess,” Adam commented.
“I guess,” Skye replied as the train pulled up. “I thought there’d be a catch with him giving us these tickets but I guess not, since he’s gone.”
~ ~ ~ ~
“Greetings, my fine clan of homicide detectives,” Dave called out as he and Frank Bakes walked into their headquarters on Cypress. “I hope that your afternoon was as pleasant as ours.”
They had just spent a couple of hours questioning the doctors at the Montreal General Hospital and visiting with a very distraught and highly emotional Christiane Lévesque.
“Well, we got to meet several nice maids, housekeepers and gardeners in Pierre Lévesque’s neighbourhood,” said Tim Harris. “Dave, I need a raise.”
“You’d just end up paying more taxes,” McCall quipped. “So, anything?”
“The only thing we might have, Jo’s discussing on the phone right now,” Tim replied. “Lévesque’s second neighbour; the woman was home. She had nothing for us but when we told her the time frame, 5:00 to 5:15, she suggested that her husband might have seen something. He’s up at 5:00 every morning and goes to get the paper at the front door.”
At that moment, Joanne stood in her cubicle as she hung up the phone and came out to join them.
“That was Harry Madison, the guy Tim’s talking about,” she announced. “It’s not much but it’s something. When he opened the front door to get the paper this morning, there was a silver-grey Chrysler Sebring stopped right in front of his house. He figures it was a 2005 or 2006 model.”
“How’d he figure that?” asked Tim.
“Madison bought his daughter one last year,” Joanne answered. “Actually, that’s why he noticed it so clearly. When he saw the car, he thought it was his daughter for a second but then saw that it wasn’t her.”
“Did he get a look at who it was,” McCall asked hopefully.
“Not good enough,” Joanne shook her head. “He thinks it was a male, Caucasian, but the guy had a baseball cap on his head and Madison has a tree out front with a few branches that hang down which blocked his view.”
“Does he know how long the car was there?” Frank queried.
“Doesn’t know when the car got there but he knows the car was gone a couple of minutes later,” confirmed Joanne. “Parked cars are rare on the street, especially ones with people sitting in them. Madison went to the john and looked out right after, the car bugged him, but it was gone so he made nothing of it.”
“So we might be looking for a late model, silver-grey Sebring,” scoffed Harris. “Like there aren’t too many of those around.”
“Two-door,” added Joanne optimistically.
“With major damage to the front grill, bumper, maybe even the hood,” added McCall as he headed for his office. “We saw Lévesque this afternoon so trust me, that car’s got dings on it. Somebody better check if the grill fragments found at the scene are consistent with a Sebring.”
~ ~ ~ ~
They kept their fire small and had set it farther back from the water’s edge in hopes of not attracting attention. Although the island was set up somewhat as a park with city installed picnic tables and trash cans, there had been few visitors since they had arrived late in the afternoon and none since it had gotten dark.
They had passed a convenience store on the walk from the train station and while Adam bought a six pack of beer and a dozen hotdog buns, Skye had looked after nabbing the wieners, mustard and relish.
“Those were pretty good dogs,” Adam declared before stifling a belch.
“I guess,” Skye shot back good-naturedly. “You ate five.”
“We hadn’t eaten today,” protested Adam then realized that Skye was smiling at him. “Oh, you’re joshin me.”
“You have any pot left?” Skye asked. “Doobie would go nice right now.”
“Here,” Adam replied, tossing her a plastic 35mm film container. “You roll; I gotta go to the can,” he added, getting up and heading off for some privacy.
“Well, make it quick,” Skye called after him. “Cuz once this thing’s rolled, I’m lightin it up.”
She knew she wasn’t always nice as she could be to Adam but he let her be bossy and tough with him so, too bad.
She finished rolling the joint and cracked open their last beer as she waited for his return. A minute passed, then another but still no sign of him.
“Hey, I’m gonna light this. You coming?” she cal
led out.
No response.
“Trying to be funny are you?” she muttered, becoming annoyed.
“Oh screw this,” she snorted after another moment, lighting the joint. “I don’t give a shit. It’ll just be more for me.”
She took a deep drag then another, followed by a cold swig of beer. As she leaned back, supporting her weight on her hands, she suddenly felt strong fingers wrap around her throat. She struggled violently, attempting to relieve the choking pressure but it was all in vain.
Chapter 6 – Thursday, July 6, 2006
Chris and his guest, Jonathan Addley, sat on the terrace at the house in Knowlton having just finished breakfast.
“And now, down to business,” announced Jonathan, pulling a folder out of his satchel. “In a nutshell, we’re dealing with two brothers from Granby, Philippe and Étienne Morin. Here are their photos.”
“Nice looking fellas,” Chris joked, looking at the mug shots. “What’s our problem with them?”
“A bit of history, if I may?” suggested Jonathan. “They’re your run of the mill small-time bad boys. Both have been arrested for a variety of things over the years; car theft, drugs, assault, that kind of thing. Both have done time.”
“I’m liking them more by the minute,” Chris commented.
“It gets better,” assured Jonathan. “In recent months, with the help of some muscle from the Smokin’ Jokers from Sherbrooke, they have convinced a handful of farmers out by Ange-Gardien to give up some acreage in the corn fields to cultivate their own crops. Here are some aerial shots courtesy of François Duguay.”
François Duguay was Regional Commander of the Quebec Provincial Police and relied on Jonathan’s assistance on occasion.
“That would make a nice profit come harvest time,” said Chris, looking at the acres of marijuana depicted in the photos.
“Now, here’s where it gets a bit nastier,” Jonathan continued. “You might like these boys less after this. One of the farmers, Cyril Deschamps flat out refused to deal with the Morin brothers. Consequently, they beat the hell out of him and he is still in the hospital, basically a vegetable. The fellow’s a widower but his son lived with him and worked on the farm. The boy hasn’t been seen in a couple of months but nobody’s reported anything to the police for fear of reprisal.”
“You’re right,” agreed Chris, the anger firing in his eyes. “I don’t like them anymore. Where do these bastards live?”
“Philippe Morin now occupies the farmhouse while Étienne continues to live in Granby with his current girlfriend, some barmaid or stripper.”
“Philippe live alone?” Chris enquired.
“Generally yes,” Jonathan confirmed. “An occasional damsel or buddy stays over every once in a while but nothing regular.”
“Alright, I’m in,” said Chris. “What’s the plan?”
“What I was thinking,” Jonathan started, “Is that maybe you could…”
~ ~ ~ ~
Dave sat in his office, staring at the changing images of the island paradises of his screen saver as he brooded.
They had nothing to go with at all on the two vagrant killings and all they had garnered regarding Pierre Lévesque’s hit-and-run was the Sebring clue which perhaps had nothing to do with the incident at all. The grill fragments found had been confirmed as matching that of the Sebring as well as three or four other Chrysler models. He had hoped to have something, anything more than just William Enright’s veiled threat before visiting the philanthropist. Having interviewed Christiane Lévesque as well as Councillor Bédard and his wife Yvette, it was clear that Lévesque had actually been the first to make threats, even though he had been goaded by Enright.
“It’s a long-shot,” said Frank as he walked into the office with a report in hand, “But there’s a 2006 Sebring registered to the Enright Foundation.”
“It’s a start,” replied McCall. “I was hoping for more before talking to the guy but this will have to do. Savard’s kind of anxious for me to go meet Mr. Enright.”
“Are you just going to pop in on him? Frank asked.
“He might not even be there if I did,” Dave answered, shaking his head. “Anyhow, it’s probably more proper and respectful if I make an appointment.”
Glancing at a pad on which he had scribbled the foundation’s phone number earlier, he added, “Might as well do that now and see if he has some time for us this afternoon.”
As he picked up the phone, Joanne came briskly down the hallway, her expression grim.
“Just got a call from Station 10 in Cartierville. Two bodies were found on Perry Island, east of the 15. Looks like street kids, Dave. Female had a BYID card from Ontario. Name is Skye Evans, nineteen and the photo matches. Male victim is Adam Chisholm, age twenty-two according to a B.C. driver’s license.”
“The Homeless Killer strikes again?” Frank mused aloud.
“We don’t know that but it’s possible,” admitted Dave. “If it’s the case, the killer’s territory has gotten bigger. Who found the bodies?”
“Two city workers out to empty trash cans and do their daily visual for vandalism.” Joanne answered. “They actually only found the girl who was more out in a clearing. The cops found the guy when they showed up. Who’s going down there?”
“Frank and I will go,” Dave said wearily as he shrugged into his jacket. “You and Tim can keep at it with the body shops about the Sebring. Let’s go, Frankie. I’ll try to get a hold of Enright on the way. Maybe we can visit with him when we get back.”
~ ~ ~ ~
“Very good, Captain. I’ll be expecting you. No need to worry about that. I plan to be in the office all afternoon. I’ll understand if you’re delayed.”
“What was that about?” asked Elena as Enright replaced the receiver of her phone.
“Captain McCall wants to meet with me this afternoon.” Enright slowly responded.
“Isn’t he homicide?” questioned Elena, puzzled. “What would he want to talk to you for?”
“I may have opened my big mouth a little too wide,” William replied with a rueful smile. “I ran into Pierre Lévesque at the restaurant the other night when Victoria was in town and we had a few words.”
“What kind of words, William?” his assistant insisted, knowing that Enright could be uncivilized at times.
“In summary, I found an occasion to politely insult the deputy-mayor. He became angry and threatened me which made me angry so I threatened him back.”
“William, why do you do these things?” Elena was shocked. “Maybe some of these people would listen to you more if you were less obnoxious.”
“You’re absolutely right, Elena,” William admitted, “As usual.”
“But they can’t really think that you ran him down?” Elena went on. “That’s ridiculous.”
“I’m certain that it’s a simple formality, Elena,” Enright reassured her. “The police have to verify what leads they have. Don’t worry about this.”
“If you say so, boss,” Elena replied as she glared at him. “But as I’ve told you in the past, someday, that big mouth of yours is really going to get you in trouble.”
“If you say so, boss,” Enright answered with another rueful grin.
~ ~ ~ ~
By the time that McCall and Bakes arrived at Perry Island, a substantial number of curiosity seekers had gathered, most of them in De la Merci Park which paralleled the small island on the Montreal side, separated only by a narrow strip of water some twenty feet wide. The day was warm and sunny and the atmosphere seemed almost party-like despite the circumstances. Groups of teens on summer break emitted opinions, laughed and shouted amidst the older onlookers, mainly local residents.
Several media vehicles and patrol cars parked along Gouin Boulevard rendered traffic to a trickle on the already narrow two lane thoroughfare. A couple of uniforms were kept busy encouraging vehicles to drive on and herding pedestrians and cyclists off the street.
Dave and Frank crossed the fo
otbridge to the island and headed towards its eastern end where they could see obvious activity. As they approached, they saw Tony Morrow of the M.E.’s office walking towards them.
“Why are we always meeting under such morbid circumstances, guys?” asked Morrow. Dark humour was often used at such scenes to alleviate tension.
“Cuz it’s a morbid world, Tony,” Dave replied. “How bad is it?”
“It isn’t really,” Morrow answered. “It’s just sad. Kids in the prime of their life. Neck bruises tell me strangulation which I’m guessing will be the cause of death. Young lady was on the ground close to the ashes of a small fire over that way.” He pointed towards where he had come from. “She had some black residue under her fingernails that I’m guessing will come back as leather.”
“The killer was wearing gloves,” said Frank.
“That’s what I’m thinking,” agreed Tony. “There was a half-smoked joint on the ground beside her that seemed to have gone out on its own. The way I see it is that she was sitting on the ground, smoking and the killer came from behind and choked her.”
“What about the other one?” McCall enquired.
“He was found right about there, close to the water,” Morrow pointed directly north of where they stood. “It would appear that the kid was taking a crap when he was attacked. Bruises on the neck indicate that he was choked from behind as well. Nothing under his fingernails cuz they were bitten down to the quick. We might find some tiny particles in the skin once we get to the lab.”
“Anything new with our two other homeless victims?” Dave asked.
“I got the ballistics report this morning for the first one which I forwarded to you just before coming here. It was a thirty-eight slug which is what we thought. As for the Old Clock Tower lady, I’m saying a rusted steel pipe. That’s all I’ve got.”
“Alright,” Dave exhaled slowly. “Let’s have a look around then I can go chat with the press.”
The Homeless Killer Page 5
