On the main level of the hospital, Withers looked with disbelief at the ensuing chaos. People were streaming in and out of emergency, the uninjured looking for the injured; the walking injured heading towards the exit, cuts and bruises visible on their tired, swollen faces. He spotted patrolman Tom Sweeney talking with one of the ambulance attendants and headed in their direction.
“What’s going on Tom?”
Tom filled him in on the bus accident. “Fifteen people seriously injured; thirty-five or more with minor injuries, and one fatality, the driver. It happened just before rush hour. An hour later, we would have been looking at more than one dead body.”
He thanked him and headed towards the elevators. Fifteen minutes later, he entered the main lobby, exited the front doors, making his way to where he had parked, weaving through the glut of cars scattered in front of the hospital entrance. Two police officers were directing approaching cars away from the main entrance towards the lower parking lots. He nodded at them and continued on to the end of the lot adjacent to one of the side streets. He saw the back of a woman standing in the bus shelter; she was swaying back and forth. He made his way over, his jaw dropping when he saw who it was.
“June, are you alright,” he asked.
She tried a smile but swelling had distorted her lips.
“I’m better than a lot of others,” she said.
“Wait here,” he said, “I’ll bring the car around and give you a ride home. The last thing you need right now is to get on another bus.”
“Well, you know what they say about getting back up on the horse again...” her voice trailing off.
Withers didn’t hear her response, he was already halfway across the lot; his pace, like his heart rate, rapid. He longed to caress the scrapes and bruises on the beautiful face, to kiss her eyelids, stroke her hair. Get yourself under control before you make a fool of yourself. He jumped in the car, put it in gear and headed to the bus stop.
He watched as she tried to conceal her pain in what seemed to take an endless amount of time before she was seated in the car.
“Did they give you anything for the pain?”
“Yes, they did but I haven’t taken it yet. I wanted to wait until I was home.”
“Where do you live?” He knew the area and was relieved not to have to ask her for directions. It had to be painful to squeeze words past those swollen lips. They travelled the rest of the way in silence.
Soon after turning onto Young Street, he spotted the house. It was a two story, 1950’s over and under prefab flanked by a row of small businesses – an antique shop, a small bistro, and a hardware store. On the upper level of the building, a black and white sign read that June’s Beauty Salon, creaked back and forth in the gentle wind.
Reaching for the door handle, a heart breaking crooked smile on her face, June thanked him for the drive.
“I’ll help you up the stairs”, he said.
He eased her out of the car, slipped his hand under her elbow and led her towards the side door entrance. Her hand shook as she unlocked the door. A dim overhead light threw shadows on the narrow, steep stairway. They climbed slowly. The door at the top of the stairs opened into a hallway. June invited him in for a cup of tea but he declined knowing it was a polite gesture only. As he turned to go, he felt her hand on his arm, then her bruised swollen lips brushing the side of his face.
“Thanks,” she whispered.
He mumbled goodbye and ran down the steps, got in his car and sped away, the brush of those swollen lips burning his face.
***
The entire Incident Team, grim faced, tired looking, many of whom had only managed a few hours sleep before returning to the precinct, gathered in the main boardroom for the debrief.
“This was no break and enter”, Gordon said. “No forced entry, valuables untouched. The killer came knocking and Catherine let him or her in.”
Tell us something we don’t know, Kate thought.
“The hospital has released the body to the Coroner. I spoke with George and asked him to get back to us as soon as possible. We’re looking at the same killer so Catherine was probably drugged before the killer attacked with fists and knife.”
“We have overkill. Raises the question, do we have the same killer”, Withers said.
“Of course we do. The killer is escalating”, Kate said.
“I don’t know”, Shirley said. “Catherine was reportedly a tolerant, long-suffering faithful wife and mother. There’s not one hint of impropriety about this woman from cast, crew, and friends.”
“Sometimes things aren’t as they seem, Shirley. We have the fact of her excessive drug use. In my opinion, it wasn’t being used just for ‘grief relief’. I think she knew something and that something got her killed. It was personal. Her death is linked to the others, no doubt in my mind”, Kate said.
“Nora said she had stopped taking any drugs after Stone’s funeral”, Shirley said.
“Yes. The question is why? Did she want a clear head if the killer confronted her? She fought back, you know. Defence wounds on her hands, crud under the fingernails.”
“Maybe she’s known from the beginning”, Withers said. “Stone was a mess; maybe she pressured him to tell her what was going on.”
“Makes sense”, Gordon said.
Kate drew a breath. “I think a woman’s behind the killing. The murder weapons – poison, drugs are typically the ones used by a female. Maybe we should bring in the RCMP. Get a profile worked up. We’re up against it, three killings in less than a month. What do we have to lose?”
“Plenty - public panic, newspaper feeding frenzy, for starters”, Gordon said.
“We can’t control how people will react. Our responsibility is to stop the killer.”
“I know what our responsibility is. You were in diapers when I started in this business.” He swivelled his chair and looked out the window.
“Okay. I’ll make the call. It doesn’t go outside this room, understood?”
“Yes, understood”, Kate said.
Shirley, uncomfortable with the tension, moved things along.
“A few early reports from the last nights door-to-door are in. A taxi pulled up in front of Catherine’s home, not once, but twice. One at 2:30pm, a woman who lived directly across the street glimpsed a tall person in a black coat get out of the cab and walk up to Catherine’s door. She couldn’t say if it was a man or a woman. The other cab arrived at 4:30pm; the description of that passenger fits Eleanor Sutton.”
“Supports the theory of one killer”, Gordon said. “Yes, Withers?”
“Has anyone told them to follow up with the taxi drivers to see if they can get a better description of the first passenger?”
“I would hope so but check up on it will you?”
Withers nodded and left the room.
“It’s the kind of neighbourhood where any suspicious comings and goings would be noticed. I grew up in the vicinity. I know.
“Memories of growing up and your neighbours turning you in, Kate?”
No one said a word; the last thing they wanted was Gordon’s attempt at humour. Only two reacted - Kate glared; Shirley smiled.
“Okay, I’ve asked Tom to do an in-depth check into Catherine’s background, there’s DNA under her fingernails, the sister will be interviewed by myself this afternoon, so let’s move on to the interviews you and Shirley had with the theatre troupe. Anything new?”
“Not really”, Kate said. “Henry didn’t contribute anything different, he was nervous, but he’s in a new position so maybe that accounts for it. I came at him from three different angles, but no dice. Ed has been fired. Apparently he’s a drinker, things missing from the set, that type of thing. Shirley’s going to meet with him at his home later day. Who knows, he might have something interesting to add now that’s he’s no longer employed b
y the company. Andrew, the Stage Manager, is hiding something he’s saw or heard but he wasn’t sharing it with me. I plan on bringing him in for a follow up, sweat him a little. Over to you, Shirley.”
“The Iron lady’s mask is starting to crack a bit, it was the first time I saw beads of sweat on Eleanor’s brow. She started getting nervous the harder I pushed about Jeffrey Stone, her relationship with him, her husband, daughter and Catherine. The vibe I was getting is that she was getting ready to talk so I gave her my card and encouraged her to call or drop by. I spoke with Brenda and learned she and her husband met with Jeffrey and Catherine Stone on a social basis, quite chummy in fact. She alluded to Jeffrey’s roving eye and how devastating it was to Catherine. Said the last time they got together, the tension was so thick between the two of them that she and her husband left early. Charlotte had nothing new to add, just the same old complaints about how Stone misunderstood her talent.
“Good, things are starting to shake a bit. You and Kate need to get back to them as soon as you can. Catherine was a sympathetic character; maybe they’ll open up even more. I understand you have a written report on your visit to G &M Manufacturing, Shirley. Can you have copies made and circulated to the entire team to read and we’ll meet and discuss it later.”
“Okay, folks, that’s it for now. Nose to the grindstones and we’ll get this s.o.b.”
Chapter 14
Roger took in a deep breath of the fresh air, headed for the nearest corner store and downed a bottle of carbonated water. Five minutes later, he was walking towards downtown belching in time with his feet, making a bee line for the downtown area where the homeless hang out. Kate had briefed him late last evening about Catherine’s murder and it shook him. Maybe there was substance to Kate’s theory after all. He decided to do some detecting of his own.
He pulled at the black eye patch, the damn elastic was too tight, but he shouldn’t complain, he didn’t lose his vision in his left eye but it was sensitive to the light, needed more time to heal.
It felt good to be in the neighbourhood where he first walked a beat. He was much younger, slimmer and keener in those days. Taking the time to peer into alleyways, smiling at passing pedestrians, continuously moving. He owed a lot to this neighbourhood. They have him his start and helped him grow into a cop.
He was sure the favourite haunts of the homeless hadn’t changed over the years. He scoured the small parks, library benches, and the busy intersections. No luck. Tired and feeling a bit wobbly, he was on his way to the cab stand when he spotted a woman sitting on a park bench who matched Kate’s description of Hazel.
She was throwing crumbs at a cluster of pigeons; he took at seat at the other end and hoped his clothes would pass the muster. He chose his torn, paint pants, the shirt that was in dire need of a wash, a thin, stretched sweater that hung low in front and high in back. He topped his ensemble off with his old fishing jacket. He didn’t own a pair of scuffed shoes. It broke his heart to take the wire brush to his suede hush puppies, finishing them off with a sprinkle of water and a roll in the dust.
“Strange creatures, aren’t they?”
The faded blue eyes looked into his. “Not as strange as people.”
“Oh, why do you say that?”
“Cause, unlike people, they mind their own business. And they’re born entertainers.”
“How so?”
“They bob and wobble, take off and land as good as any stunt plane, and they crap on the public. They’re athletes as well. They can fly over 500 miles in a day. They’ve carried messages since time began. The so-called Biblical scholars got it wrong. Common sense says it had to be a pigeon, not a dove, carrying the twig to the Ark.”
“Not very hygienic are they? Not like some bird species.”
“I’ve stayed in shelters dirtier than them.”
Seeing the look on her face, he decided to cut to the chase.
“Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”
“I don’t know what you’re looking for Mr. Polizeeman but a cup of coffee doesn’t buy you much.”
Damn, ruined them shoes for nothing.
“True, how about I pass you a menu as we sip our coffee?”
“Well now, that’s the best bench offer I’ve had in a long time. Why not?”
The two strolled out of the park and onto the busy sidewalk.
“Look lad, I wouldn’t go in there if I were you?”
Roger stopped short of entering the restaurant.
“Why not?”
“They don’t care for me much in there. I know a spot where I’m welcome.”
They walked three more blocks. Hazel opened the door into the drop-in centre. Roger scanned the room. There were only a handful of people scattered among the tables, drinking coffee out of paper cups.
Hazel led him to a corner table. Roger reached into the paper bag and took out the two sandwiches he had bought at a takeout deli. Eyes in the room watched his hands pulling the food out of the bag.
“Not to worry. Their bellies are still full from breakfast. Most of them will be half unconscious with wine by early afternoon. So, what do you have for me?”
“BLT on whole wheat.”
“Sounds good”, Hazel said reaching for the sandwich.
They tucked into their sandwiches and not a word was said until they had finished eating.
“I take it you’re looking for information on the woman looking for the hit man.”
“Yes. How did you know?”
“Wasn’t hard to figure.
“So what did this person look like?”
“Couldn’t say except for the red hair, there was something about the voice though, neutral, could have been a man’s or a woman’s, but it cultured like, you know what I mean – high brow. Tall, thin. I’m not so good on ages - anywhere between 30 and fifty. The bright, red hair was a wig for sure. Not even God himself would come up with a colour like that.”
“What kind of clothes?”
“Dressed down, something like you, long black coat, one of them black hats pulled down over the forehead – the kind of hats detectives wore in those old black and white movies.”
“Did the person say who the target was?”
“Nope, a black man, that’s all. You can check with Old Crow, he might know more than me.”
“Old Crow?”
“He hangs out in the park, two benches down from where we sat. He wasn’t there this morning or I would have invited him along. He told me all about it.”
“Do you think it was the same person who approached you?”
“Yes, for sure it was, could tell by the clothes and the hair. He said some names of young thugs he knew, figured it was a hoax.”
“Do you know those thugs?”
“Of course I do. They’re conceited snot heads who swagger around the neighbourhood putting the scare to ten years old. They must have tackled someone bigger though. They’ve been holed up at Taylor Jackson’s home over on Queen for the last week.”
“Excuse me, Hazel, I’ll be right back.” He headed for the washroom, pulled out his cell and gave Withers the scoop. He swore he could hear the sirens as he made his way back to the table.
“Is there anything else you can tell me?”
“No. I can’t think of anything more.”
“I’d like to speak with Old Crow. Do you think you could put in a good word for me?”
“I might be able to do that, he’d probably ask for more than a meal though.”
“I can manage it. When do you think we can meet again?”
“Tomorrow morning. The same place and time.”
“Appreciate your forthrightness Hazel. You know, if people were as cooperative and helpful as you are, the crime rate would be sure to fall.”
“Never mind the flattery, I don’t need it. I was raised by good parents
. I know right from wrong.”
“Understood.” He passed her his card wrapped in a $50 bill. “For phone calls if you hear any rumours or spot this dark clad person again,” he said.
Exhausted, Roger hailed the first empty cab and went home to bed.
***
“Good news, Shirley”, Kate said, “We’ve got a break. I just got a call from a concerned citizen.”
“And?”
“It was a very informative dialogue I had with Mrs. Rogers. She’s a senior citizen who had left the province to visit her daughter and granddaughter in Toronto. She returned home a little more than a week ago. Took her time reading through her stack of newspapers, came across the story on Jeffrey Stone’s murder an hour ago, says said he has a cabin a mile up the road from her.”
“Where does she live?”
“About two kilometres past Peggy’s Cove, on a dirt road, only two dwellings, hers and down the road a piece, a cabin.”
“Why would Jeffrey Stone buy a rundown shack? Surely he could afford something better.”
“Because he was hiding something. Mrs. Rogers gave me the civic address; I’ll start the paper work for a search warrant. Once it’s ready, we’ll head out to interview to her; Withers and a couple of men from the incident team can follow us in the van and search the cabin. I better inform Gordon.”
Two hours later, Kate and Shirley sat across from Mrs. Roger at her red and white Formica table eating peanut butter cookies and sipping tea. The woman was obviously pleased to find herself in the middle of a murder case. Shirley wiped the crumbs from her face and hands, slipped her notebook out of her bag, entered the date and time, and waited for Kate to begin.
Final Act Page 15
