The Homeless Killer

by Claude Bouchard

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  “He’s losing it?” Allan exclaimed, incredulous. “Breaking down? Becoming disorganized?”

  He controlled the urge to throw the remote control at the wide screen television. Instead, he clicked the monitor off and went to refresh his drink.

  “I’ll show you, McCall,” he muttered as he splashed more scotch over fresh ice cubes. “You don’t know about my big plan, do you? I’ll even give you some advance warning and you still won’t catch me. You never will. We’ll just see who’s disorganized.”

  Chapter 25 – Friday, July 28, 2006

  Dave McCall walked into his office, happy that the week was nearly over. The previous day had been a long and difficult one and he hoped and expected that this day would be less gruelling. At least he was back on good terms with Borough Mayor Laforge. Yesterday’s events had understandably hit the man hard and he had been quite grateful that the captain had offered to run the demanding press conference solo. Laforge had in fact called Dave in the evening to thank him once again and to congratulate him for keeping his sang froid when announcing such shocking, dreadful news to the press.

  Chris had also called the previous evening to congratulate the captain on solving the Lévesque case and also to invite Dave and Cathy to Knowlton over the weekend. Taylor’s, Sandy’s gallery, was opening Elisabeth Galante’s show, La Nature du Pinceau, at noon on Saturday and the McCalls were invited to attend, as were Jonathan and Josée Addley. Drinks, dinner and probably more drinks would then be served at the Barrys’ home with Galante as the honoured dinner guest.

  He sat behind his desk and began the daily ritual of scanning through his overnight harvest of emails. Several were from long-time colleagues on the force praising him and his team on their resolving Lévesque’s murder although McCall had difficulty feeling proud considering the mournful circumstances. Others were status update requests on other cases his team was handling or various departmental announcements.

  As he scrolled down the list, prioritizing, forwarding and replying as he went along, he suddenly froze as he read a sender’s email address.

  thehomelesskiller@gmail.com

  The subject line read: A FRIENDLY WARNING, SMART-ASS and the email had been sent the previous evening at 8:47.

  “What the fuck now?” he muttered to himself, hesitating for a moment before clicking the email open.

  As the document appeared, he noted that several media organizations had been copied. He took a deep breath and read the text of the message.

  My Dearest Captain McCall,

  I must inform you that I was gravely disappointed to hear you blabber your senseless opinion on my subject during today’s press conference. I have taken ten victims so far in less than a month and you are no closer to determining who I am, much less to catching me, than you were when we started this whole thing. You have no clues, no leads, yet you permit yourself, in public no less, to label me as disorganized. Who has been the most successful in our little game, Captain? From where I sit, I read the scoreboard as 10 – 0 for ME. I imagine that I should at least commend you for your courage in making such ridiculous statements to the press. It’s unfortunate that your bravery is so overshadowed by your blatant stupidity.

  To prove a point, I am informing you that I have not finished. I am letting you know that you can expect a homeless killing catastrophe in the near future. I will proceed with my plan and I shall succeed. Conversely, you shall fail, even though forewarned. Who knows what the score will be once this event is over? 20 – 0? 30 – 0? I do know that it will be something – 0. Then, we’ll review who is losing it, breaking down and becoming disorganized.

  Best of luck (because you’ll need it),

  THE Homeless Killer

  “You goddamned bastard,” he growled in frustration as he reached for the phone. “Frank, our killer sent me an email last night. Contact Thompson at the Computer Centre. We need to know where this email came from. Maybe he finally screwed himself.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  The Montreal daily papers had run with the killer’s email as had the local television and radio news. This had resulted in McCall and some of his team members having to spend some time fielding calls from reporters and concerned citizens.

  As Dave hung up the phone, having dealt with his seventh or eighth journalist, it rang once more.

  “For God’s sake, give us a break,” he sighed aloud as he glanced at the call display; Enright Foundation. “McCall, Homicide.”

  “Hello, David, it’s William,” Enright announced. “I imagine that yours is a busy morning?”

  “The phone hasn’t stopped ringing,” replied the captain. “I’m presuming that you’re calling about the same thing?”

  “Unfortunately, yes,” admitted Enright. “This message from the killer is quite troubling.”

  “I can’t disagree with you, William. Especially since I don’t know where to look to stop this guy.”

  “My concern about this is more specific, however,” Enright informed him. “I’m quite worried about the opening of the Overdale shelter on Tuesday.”

  Oh, Jesus, William,” Dave exclaimed. “I hadn’t thought of that. That would certainly be a potential target for this maniac.”

  “My thoughts as well,” Enright confirmed.

  “Is there any possibility of delaying the opening?” asked McCall hopefully.

  “Until when, David?” Enright rhetorically enquired. “A week from now, a month, a year? Too much has gone into this project to back off now. The borough’s by-law is scheduled to take effect in just over a month’s time. We want to get people used to coming to the shelter before then, sort of wean them away from the squares. We also have announcements set to run in tomorrow’s newspapers and I have another team ready to plaster the town with posters and flyers.”

  “You’re perfectly right, William,” Dave agreed. “We can’t stop the world from turning. But I am concerned about the shelter, especially the opening, as you mentioned. We’re going to have to do something for, at least, some minimal security.”

  “Anything you could do would be greatly appreciated,” said Enright.

  “Today’s looking pretty tight,” offered the captain, “But how about if I come over to the shelter with Frank Bakes on Monday. You could give us a tour of the place so that we can get a handle on the lay-out, potential trouble spots, that kind of thing.”

  “That would be wonderful, David,” Enright replied with relief. “I expect to be there for the better part of the day anyway. The construction crew will still be working on the last minute details and I want everything to be just right. So, Monday, come over anytime. I’ll be expecting you.”

  “Very good, William,” said McCall. “I’ll see you then. Have a nice weekend and don’t worry too much.”

  “I’ll try not to,” promised Enright. “Have a nice weekend as well.”

  Dave hung up the phone as Bakes came into his office.

  “Thompson just got back to me about the email,” Frank announced. “He traced it to a place called Web Café on Fort Street.

  “Explain to me what that means,” McCall suggested, computers never having been his forte.

  “The email address is a gmail account,” explained Bakes, “Google’s version of Hotmail or Yahoo. The beauty of these email accounts is that you can send and receive emails from any computer, anywhere in the world, as long as it’s hooked up to the Internet, naturally.”

  “Naturally,” smiled Dave. “So, he used a generic email account on a public computer is what you’re telling me.”

  “That’s correct, I regret to say,” Frank confirmed. “If he had sent it from home, we could have tracked him through his IP address. He sent it from this café so that’s where we traced him to.”

  “Shit,” muttered the captain.

  “I’ll go check this place out,” said Bakes. “Maybe they have security cameras and we can check the tapes. We know what time the email was sent and they’ll know which specific term
inal was used. The guy might even have paid with a credit card although I doubt he’s that stupid.”

  “So do I,” McCall replied. “Go check it out but I won’t hold my breath.”

  “Good plan,” Frank agreed as he left the captain’s office.

  Chapter 26 – Saturday, July 29, 2006

  The opening of Elisabeth Galante’s La Nature du Pinceau at Taylor’s was an overwhelming success. Translated literally as ‘The Nature of the Brush’, the watercolourist’s works had all been produced on site at various locations in the Laurentians and Quebec’s Charlevoix region and depicted a variety of natural landscapes in a rich, bold palette. Even Dave and Jonathan, neither big art enthusiasts, had ended up each buying a piece.

  While Sandy and the artist remained at the gallery to tend to potential customers, Chris had taken their guests on a walking tour of the picturesque village of Knowlton. They had then returned to the Barrys’ comfortable home for refreshments and several dips in the pool.

  When Sandy and Elisabeth returned from Taylor’s loaded up with groceries, the others were informed that the artist insisted on preparing dinner for all as a show of gratitude for the afternoon’s success. A vegetarian and the daughter of an award winning Long Island chef, Elisabeth had quickly whipped up a small feast which included fresh fennel in a citrus vinaigrette, stuffed eggplant and zucchini au gratin and ricotta filled crepes drizzled with a fresh tomato/garlic/basil purée.

  They had just finished eating and all around the table felt they possibly might explode.

  “Ms. Galante, I’ve never been much attracted to vegetarian cuisine,” Dave admitted. “But I do believe that may have been the best meal I’ve ever eaten in my life.”

  “Hear, hear,” Jonathan cheered as the others applauded their chef.

  “Really, it was nothing,” said Elisabeth, blushing profusely. “It was my way of thanking you all for a wonderful and profitable exhibit opening.”

  “I think your artistic talent may have had something to do with this afternoon’s success,” Chris suggested with a smile. “Now, Ladies, if you would excuse us boys for a few minutes, Dave, Jon and I have to discuss a little project we are working on.”

  “Did you ever notice how they always have to discuss things when it’s time to clear the table?” Cathy quipped as the men rose.

  “It’s probably better that way,” volunteered Josée. “When I get Jon involved with dishes, he usually ends up breaking a few.”

  Chuckling, the three men left the dining room and the women’s insulting comments and headed for the den.

  “Un petit digestif?” Chris offered as the other two settled into the comfortable leather furniture.

  “I’d have a Grand Marnier if you have it,” asked Dave. “No ice.”

  “Good man,” Chris approved. “Jon? Cognac?”

  “Oui, merci,” Jonathan replied.

  Chris poured their drinks along with a glass of chilled Warre’s Otima 20 year tawny for himself.

  Settling into his favourite recliner, he turned to Dave and asked, “So, what’s up?”

  “You both saw the email?” Dave asked.

  He had forwarded it to them the day before and they had also seen the transcript in the papers.

  Jonathan nodded while Chris asked, “Any luck at that Internet café?”

  “Nah,” McCall shook his head. “No security cameras and apparently the place was pretty busy around the time the email was sent.”

  “Them’s the breaks,” Jon commented, shrugging.

  Dave nodded and continued. “The Enright Foundation is opening their new shelter on Overdale Avenue on Tuesday. Enright called me yesterday expressing concern that this might be a nice opportunity for our killer to create his ‘catastrophe’ and I’m inclined to agree with him.”

  “It certainly would be a newsworthy target,” said Jonathan. “I’m guessing that the media will be present. What better time to open fire on a bunch of people or set a bomb or something?”

  “I was thinking more in terms of a bomb myself,” Dave replied. “I’ll be visiting the shelter with Frank on Monday and was thinking of getting someone in from Explosives with a dog to check the place out. I doubt that the guy would be crazy enough to come in with blazing guns. Just too much risk of getting caught.”

  “You’ve already speculated escalation and disorganization,” Chris reminded. “Keep in mind that he may be suicidal. He could go kamikaze with explosives or with guns.”

  “True,” McCall admitted. “The thing that annoys me is that Tuesday just might go by with nothing happening. The guy just said to expect something big soon. It’s too vague for me to justify heavy police security for the shelter’s opening.”

  “What kind of security are you foreseeing then?” asked Jonathan.

  “Frank and I will be there and we’ll have seen the place following Monday’s visit,” Dave replied. “We might have some safeguards to suggest, depending on the shelter’s layout. I’d also like Dougie and Bob to be at the opening.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Chris grinned and turned to Jon. “How about you?”

  “Me, miss a party?” Jonathan snorted. “Not on your life. What time does this shindig start?”

  “I’ll get that from Enright on Monday,” said McCall. “He’ll be giving me all the details of what’s been planned.”

  “Well, Captain, rest assured of one thing,” offered Chris as he raised his glass. “Dougie and Bob will be there for you.”

  The three men brought their glasses to their lips and drained the contents in salute.

  “Shall we return to the ladies?” asked Dave.

  “Soon,” replied Jonathan as he held his empty glass towards Chris. “I just think that this whole situation deserves another round.”

  “Hear, hear,” laughed Chris as he returned to the bar.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  It was late enough to be dark when Allan eased his way quietly into the Overdale shelter through a rear door on Argyle Avenue. It was neither difficult to gain access or strange that he be there since he had been involved with the renovation work from the beginning and planning all along.

  As he strolled through the old converted manufacturing plant, he wondered if sending the email to McCall and the media had been a good idea. Regardless, what was done was done and, in the end, it would make the game more interesting, more challenging, more fun.

  He reached a doorway beyond which was a staircase ascending to four offices which overlooked a previous processing area, now the shelter’s dining hall. Climbing to the second floor, he made his way to the end of the hallway and entered the last office. He crossed over to the windows which made up the upper portion of the opposite wall, opened the newly installed vertical blinds and gazed down at the dining hall below. He cracked the central window open, sliding it about six inches then pulled the blinds nearly shut, leaving the window opening uncovered. Stepping from side to side, he verified the view he had of the dining hall and was satisfied.

  Moving to the side wall near the back corner of the office, he crouched down before a two foot wide by three foot high access panel in the wall. It was more of a small door actually, hinged on one side and held shut by a magnet/spring mechanism on the other. He pushed on the panel and it popped open, exposing several pipes and electrical wires running along the inner plywood wall.

  He smiled as he took hold of one of the pipes and pulled sideways. The plywood wall, actually a five foot by five foot panel set in tracks below and above, slid across easily, fake pipes and all. He reached inside and carefully unhooked the rifle hanging there. The Ruger M14/20CF semi-automatic with it’s twenty round magazine would suit his purposes just fine. As an extra measure of security, he even had a fully loaded second magazine though his plan was to empty the first magazine then make his exit.

  He verified the gun to ensure all was in order and put it back in its place. He then climbed into the wall opening backwards, reached down with one foot and easily found the
top rung of the ladder. Descending a couple of feet, he reached up and pulled the access panel shut then slid the plywood panel back into place.

  He quickly climbed down the ladder and made his way towards the back of the building along the narrow space hidden between the inside and outside walls. His penlight provided sufficient visibility and he soon reached another sliding plywood panel, equally disguised with pipes and wires on its opposite side. Sliding the plywood aside exposed another access panel which led into a stockroom at the rear of the building. There, in the back wall, was the door through which he had entered earlier upon his arrival.

  All was in order. He simply needed to wait until the appropriate time on Tuesday. He figured on ten seconds of shooting, another ten to get into the wall, hang his rifle and close his hatches. Once down the ladder, the coveralls and mask could be shed quickly then a quick trot down to the stockroom. From start to finish, he estimated under a minute.

  Then, McCall would hopefully understand what he was really up against.

  Chapter 27 – Monday, July 21, 2006

  The Overdale shelter was abuzz with construction activity when Dave and Frank arrived early after lunch. They entered the lobby area where a couple of workers were finishing the installation of baseboards while two painters followed, painting the boards moments after they had been nailed into place. They proceeded past the lobby into a wide central hallway. To their right, men were busy hanging the double doors leading to what was obviously the dining hall.