“We killed him,” Philippe mumbled with tears in his eyes. “He wouldn’t lay off.”
“Where is the body?” asked the man, almost kindly.
“We dumped it in the Richelieu River,” Philippe sobbed.
“I hope we can find it,” said the man. “He deserves a proper burial or cremation, n’est-ce pas?”
Chapter 7 – Friday, July 7, 2006
Philippe awoke, feeling somewhat groggy and with a massive headache, wondering what was going on. It was not quite daylight so he figured it to be early morning. As he came to his senses, he realized that he was outside, lying in a field, surrounded by growing marijuana plants. He tried to move but was unable and quickly understood that it was because he was trussed up quite securely. He was able to raise his head and in so doing, he noticed two things almost simultaneously. One was Étienne, his brother, similarly bound with an assortment of ropes and ties and tape. The other was a small black metal box, perhaps the size of a cigarette pack, firmly taped to his chest.
As thoughts of the night’s events started to force themselves into his muddled mind, he noticed the approaching drone of a plane. The sound grew quickly louder and closer and he soon saw what appeared to be a water bomber like those big yellow Bombardier planes they used to put out forest fires. The plane drew closer and suddenly started dropping its liquid cargo as it flew over the fields. Soon, the plane flew overhead and seconds later, liquid splashed all over, saturating Philippe, Étienne and the surrounding crops. The liquid had a chemical smell to it and stung Philippe’s eyes.
‘This is not water,’ thought Philippe, a second before the bomb taped to his chest exploded, setting the brothers and their marijuana fields blazing in a massive inferno.
~ ~ ~ ~
“That’s it,” said Jonathan as he returned the small transmitter to his wind-breaker pocket. “Let’s get out of here.”
He put the Suburban he had acquired for this job into gear and headed off for Knowlton. The roads were deserted this early in the morning and they soon were on the Eastern Townships Autoroute as the sun began to rise. Both were quiet for several minutes, left to their own thoughts until Chris broke the silence.
“Question for you, if I may?”
“Go right ahead,” Jonathan replied.
“Why do you do this?” asked Chris, simply curious. “It seems to me that you could simply call the shots and stay clear of the actual jobs.”
“Why do you do this, Chris?” Jonathan enquired. “I know it’s not for the money.”
“Because I want to see them pay,” Chris promptly replied.
“Does that answer your question?” Jonathan smiled.
“I guess it was a dumb question,” Chris grinned. “So, any big plans for the weekend?”
“Josée and I are flying to Anticosti Island this afternoon for the weekend,” Addley said. “She wants to get some flying time in and we’ve never been there. It’s beautiful from what I’ve heard.”
Jonathan had been a pilot for several years and, after buying a plane the previous year, his wife Josée had decided to get her licence as well.
“What about you?” asked Jonathan, “I guess you’ll be playing with your boat?”
“Oh yeah,” Chris agreed. “Dave and Cathy are supposed to be coming for the weekend. I hope they can make it cuz Dave could use the off time.”
“I hear you,” Jonathan nodded. “They’re up to four homeless killings up there now.”
“And, as far as I know,” Chris added, “They don’t even know if they’re related or not.”
“Dave’s good though, he’ll figure it out,” Jonathan stated with conviction. “But tell him to let us know if we can help in any way.”
“I’ll do that,” Chris grinned, “But over the last nine years, Dave’s always shown that a vague knowledge of what we do is the most he wants to know.”
“Bah, those law and order types,” Jonathan snorted jokingly, “They always have to be by the book.”
~ ~ ~ ~
It was mid afternoon and Dave McCall needed a break after the week he’d been through. He had planned to leave at three o’clock, when Cathy was to pick him up, for a leisurely drive to Knowlton where the Barrys were expecting them for dinner. Unfortunately, Cathy had got caught in traffic due to an accident on the 40 and had only arrived at 3:20, ten minutes earlier. More unfortunate yet, Director Savard had called at 3:15 wishing a progress report and the captain was still caught on the phone as his wife patiently waited.
“Yes Alain, I spoke to Victoria Alstrom personally and she assured me, in all confidence, that she was with Enright all evening. In fact, she was with him from her arrival Tuesday, early afternoon until her departure around noon on Wednesday. They had meetings both days with donors common to both their foundations. Frank met with Enright’s live-in help, the Tousignants who also confirm his presence on Wednesday morning. In fact, Mr. Tousignant suggested that Enright was up and in his study at 5:30 after which Enright even supplied us with a sampling of emails he had responded to around that time. I think he’s clean.”
Dave looked at Cathy sitting across from his desk and mimicked a yakking mouth with his hand as he rolled his eyes. His wife smirked and winked at him.
“No, nothing from any body shop so far but do you know how many body shops there are around Montreal? No, I don’t have an exact number but there’s a shit load. Joanne and Tim are still on it. They’re also following up on rentals but no damage reports yet. Yes, I’ll definitely keep you posted as soon as something comes up. No, actually I was on my way out when you called. I’ll be up in Knowlton for the weekend but my people can reach me. Yes, of course you can as well. Alright, you too. Bye.”
He put down the phone as he stood from his chair and said to Cathy, “Go, Go, Go!”
Chapter 8 – Saturday, July 8, 2006
Dave had done some sailing in the past and quickly got the hang of the catamaran with the help of Chris’ coaching. The weather was perfect with a cloudless sky and winds blowing steadily at 15 to 17 knots.
After an hour or so, they pulled down the sails and dropped anchor to take a break and relax. Chris opened up a small cooler and pulled out a couple of cold beers, tossing one to Dave before plopping down on the trampoline.
“So, what do you think?” he grinned. “Not bad?”
“I want one of these,” Dave said, smiling from ear to ear. “I just don’t know if Cathy will let me.”
“If she doesn’t, I’ll lend you mine,” Chris reassured him. “If you’re sure you can handle it.”
“It’s tougher than it looks,” admitted Dave. “I’ll probably be aching all over tomorrow.”
“That’s why we’re taking a break,” laughed Chris, “But you were doing great out there. Excellent First Mate.”
“Great, now I’ve been demoted from Captain,” McCall joked.
“How are your cases coming along?” Chris asked, changing the subject. “If you don’t mind talking about it.”
“Nah, no problem,” said Dave. “It’s not because I’m out here that they’re not in the back of my mind somewhere.”
“Any progress at all?” Chris enquired.
“None whatsoever,” McCall muttered. “Nothing on Lévesque except for a parked car that might have nothing to do with anything. Even less on these homeless murders. Are we looking for one, two, three killers? I don’t know and we can’t really think of any place to start looking.”
“I was chatting with Jonathan yesterday,” Chris mentioned casually, “And he ask me to extend any assistance we could.”
Dave glanced over at his friend for a few seconds. “What kind of assistance were you thinking of?”
“We didn’t have any solid ideas,” Chris admitted. “We just talked about it briefly. However, should you need some people who can handle themselves in tight situations, we could be of service.”
“Sure, I’ll dress you guys as hobos and when somebody tries to kill you, you nab him,” Dave laughed.
>
“That could work if we can bait the bastard,” Chris replied thoughtfully.
“I was kidding, Chris,” McCall retorted. “Like I said, we don’t even know if it’s the same person responsible for these murders. Even if it is, we have no idea where he might strike next, if he does.”
“True enough,” accepted Chris as he stood. “But keep the offer in mind. We do good work. Let’s go matey, we’ve got women to tend to.”
“By the way, did you hear about that big field fire yesterday in Ange-Gardien?” Dave asked as he started raising the anchor. “Seems like the whole thing was a bunch of pot farms.”
“Yeah, Jon and I discussed that too,” Chris smiled as he started on the sails.
‘Yes, you do good work,’ thought Dave, turning away to hide a small smile of his own.
~ ~ ~ ~
Sal plodded on northward along University, stumbling a little every once in a while but generally doing well, all things considered. He admitted that he should have paced himself a little slower with the cognac but how often did it happen that some nice person just gave you a full bottle? Not often.
“What a nice man that was,” he mumbled to himself as he started crossing Sherbrooke. Tires screeched and somebody was honking their horn and yelling at him.
“Ahh, go n fuck yuselff!” he slurred angrily, stopping in front of the car. He raised his arm to shake his fist at the driver but started to lose his balance. He staggered and recovered without falling, wavered for a few seconds then safely resumed his trek across the street as the light had now turned green in his favour.
His thoughts returned to the nice man in front of the SAQ on de Maisonneuve near City Councillors late that afternoon. Sal had been hanging around, asking for donations as clients came in and out of the liquor store. Most ignored him but some dropped spare change in his empty Tim Hortons coffee cup. The man had been heading into the store and had told Sal, “I’ll get you something.” Sure enough, he had come back out and handed Sal a bag containing a twenty-six ounce bottle of Rémy Martin VS. It wasn’t VSOP or XO, thought Sal, but it was a twenty-sixer.
He had spent what remained of the afternoon and the better part of the evening bumming around Christ Church Cathedral and Phillips Square with his bottle to keep him company.
Now, it was getting late and his company was nearly gone so Sal had decided it was time to get some sleep. He continued a short distance on University and turned left into the alley behind the Maass Chemistry Building. He stumbled through the alley and into the open space surrounding Burnside Hall. As he continued haphazardly towards the grassy areas in the centre of the downtown campus, he remembered back when he was a student here at McGill.
It wasn’t that long ago, he thought, searching his blurry mind to determine exactly how many years; twelve? Fifteen? Seventeen? Something like that. It was too bad he had liked the partying and the dope and the drinking so much because he had ended up not being a student any more. How long ago was it? Sixteen years? Whatever.
He made it down some concrete steps without falling and lurched off towards the trees to his right in front of Burnside Hall. He could sleep there and would be in the shade come morning if the sun was up before him.
He aimed for the second tree and grabbed hold of it for support then lowered himself carefully until he was seated. He turned around a little, sliding his rear on the grass, leaned back against the trunk and went to sleep.
Chapter 9 - Sunday, July 9, 2006
Bruce Swan walked along slowly in front of the Macdonald-Stewart Library Building as he headed south towards Burnside Hall. He generally enjoyed his part-time job as Campus Security Agent but he had partied late and hearty the night before and was suffering from lack of sleep as well as a major hangover. The sun in his face didn’t help matters but at least he had his shades.
He circled around Burnside Hall glancing briefly towards the alleys that led to University Street but could see nothing of interest. Finishing his loop around Burnside, he headed towards the centre of the campus, down the concrete steps and onto the sod. The grass felt nice under his feet and he decided to stroll back northbound across the lawn rather than use the paved central drive.
He had only taken a couple of steps when he noticed the drunk, facing north, sleeping against a tree. He picked up his stride and marched straight for the guy, determined not only because it was his job but also because there was no way in hell he’d let someone else sleep off a hangover when he couldn’t.
“Hey Buddy! Up and at em,” he called out from some fifteen feet as he approached on an angle from behind but got no reaction from the man.
“Yo, Mister, let’s go,” he said with authority.
He raised his foot to the back of the man’s shoulder and gave a firm push. Rather than wake or fall over, the man’s upper body just seemed to sway slightly. It was only when Bruce stepped around to face the drunk straight on that he noticed the rope. One end was wrapped and knotted tightly around the man’s neck while the other was securely tied to a sturdy limb four feet off the ground.
“H-holy fuck!” Bruce stammered, backing away quickly until he slammed into the next tree and fell.
He scrambled to his hands and knees, got up and ran to the guard’s post at the main entrance, stopping only twice to throw up on the way.
~ ~ ~ ~
The McCalls and Barrys were enjoying brunch on the latter’s terrace in Knowlton when Dave’s cell phone rang.
“What now,” he groaned as he flipped open and looked at the screen. “Frank,” he announced to the others before answering.
“Morning, Frank. What’s up?”
“Morning, boss,” Bakes replied back in Montreal. “I hate to ruin the end of your weekend but we’re looking at number five over here.”
“Shit,” McCall muttered, glancing up briefly at the others. “Go on.”
“Apparently homeless, once again,” Frank started. “White male, looks Italian, estimated early forties, maybe younger.”
“Where?” asked Dave.
“Downtown McGill campus, propped up against a tree, rope tight around his neck, other end tied to a branch over his head, nearly empty cognac bottle in a bag next to him.
“Lovely,” was McCall’s sarcastic comment. “Who found him?”
“Campus security guy doing his first morning round at eight. Poor kid’s still green. It seems like our killer left us something this time, Dave.”
“Don’t keep me in suspense, Frankie,” the captain requested, a little impatient.
“There was a nice, crisp letter envelope sticking out of the guy’s shirt front,” Bakes explained. “Inside were two postcards, one of Mount-Royal and the other, of the Old Clock Tower. There was also one of those internet aerial satellite photos of Perry Island.”
“So somebody’s telling us that he or she did the others?” Dave suggested.
“That’s how Joanne and I figure it,” Frank agreed.
“The others were on the news and in the papers,” McCall argued. “It could be a copy-cat trying to take credit for the others; trying to give the impression that it’s a serial killer.”
“That’s also possible,” Frank admitted. “Anyhow, at least we have these to check for fingerprints, where the post cards might have been bought and so on.”
“Any I.D. on the victim?” Dave enquired.
“Nada, boss,” Bakes replied. “Looks like your typical downtown street drunk.”
“You mentioned that he had a bottle of cognac,” said Dave. “What exactly?”
“Hang on a second,” Frank answered. “Here we go, Rémy Martin VS, 750 milliliters.”
“Fancy stuff for a street drunk,” McCall commented. “That must be over fifty bucks a bottle. It’s probably nothing but have the bag and bottle processed.”
“They’re already bagged as evidence, Chief,” Bakes chuckled at the captain’s usual second guessing.
“Sorry, Frank,” Dave grinned. “You might want to have someone check with the
local SAQs for any recent purchases.”
“Uh, there’s an idea,” Frank agreed a bit sheepishly. “So, are you going to head down here?”
“Yeah,” McCall sighed as he looked at Cathy and their hosts. “Give me a couple of hours and I’ll be there.”
~ ~ ~ ~
“Vacations are wonderful but it’s always nice to be home,” said Joy Chang as they entered their sixth floor apartment on St-Timothée off de Maisonneuve.
“Home sweet home is right,” agreed Lee, her husband, as he dropped the bags to the floor and flopped onto couch. “Especially when you’ve been working harder on vacation than you do when you’re actually working. I’m bushed.”
They had just spent the last two weeks on Vancouver Island in British Columbia which had included a little beach time in Tofino and a couple of days in Victoria. However, the bulk of the trip had been dedicated to hiking the mountainous regions of the island’s interior.
“Even I found out I had muscles where I didn’t know I had them,” agreed Joy. “But it was a beautiful trip.”
“Absolutely,” Lee confirmed, standing to give his wife a hug. “I don’t know about you but I’m starving. That breakfast at eight is long gone.”
“I’d eat something too,” his wife grimaced. “But we’d have to get some groceries. We pretty much emptied the fridge before leaving.”
“We could order a pizza?” suggested Lee hopefully.
“We could,” smiled Joy. “But we’re going to need food for the week anyway.”
“You have a point,” Lee conceded.
“I’ll tell you what,” Joy offered. “If you look after unpacking our stuff, I’ll drive over to IGA and get a few things in the meantime. What do you feel like eating?”
“Something good,” Lee suggested, smiling. “It’s a beautiful day out there. Get something for the grill.”
The Homeless Killer Page 7
