“You bastards!” He glared at Karl. “Fine. What do you want?”
“We just need to talk to you, Mr. Parent. A few minutes only. Inside.”
Parent opened the door with bad grace and led the way into the kitchen. The table and counters were piled high with dirty dishes and pots. Lori counted five empty beer bottles standing in various places. The place looked and smelled like it hadn’t been cleaned in days, maybe weeks. Parent sat heavily in a chair and rain his hands through his greasy hair. The two detectives stood; it would have been difficult anyway to find two other clean chairs.
“This is Detective Singh. We’re here to ask a few more questions about Sarah Noonan’s murder.”
“Her again! Why do you want to keep talking to me?”
“Well, now, let’s see if we can figure that out together, Mr. Parent. You yelled at Ms Noonan more than once. You were verbally abusive to her in front of witnesses. You have an anger problem. And a drinking problem.” Karl gestured around at the mess in the kitchen. “Any clue yet why we want to talk to you? Where were you last Friday night?”
Parent was angry. “I already told you, I was here, with Chelsea. Ask her if you don’t believe me!”
“Oh, we have, Mr. Parent. And she confirmed what you told us.” Chelsea Parent had been questioned at the school. A shy and withdrawn girl, she had been barely audible when questioned by Drumm. She was a thin girl with unkempt brown hair which hid much of her face when she spoke. Chelsea had avoided eye contact with Drumm but she had said that she and her father were alone in the house on the Friday night that Sarah Noonan was killed.
“Well, then, what more do you want?”
“We’d like to talk to her again. I understand she’s home today. Sick, is she?”
“Yes, she’s sick. She’s found this whole thing upsetting. She’s in her room.”
Karl looked at Lori Singh. “Why don’t you and I take a little walk, Mr. Parent? Give me a tour of your place while Detective Singh here has a little chat with Chelsea.” Parent opened his mouth to protest but Karl beat him to it, saying, “I’m sure Child Services will be impressed with the co-operation you show us. Why don’t we start outside?” He motioned to Parent to stand and the two of them went out the front door.
Lori found Chelsea’s room without too much difficulty. The door was open and the girl was sitting on the edge of her unmade bed. The room was shabby, badly in need of a new paint job, with an old desk in the corner, a dresser and bedside table and some cat posters on the wall. “Chelsea? I’m Detective Singh. May I talk with you?”
The girl stared at the floor. “I heard you talking to Dad.”
“I’m sorry you’re not feeling well,” Lori said. “Did you like Ms Noonan?”
Chelsea didn’t look up and Lori could hardly hear her when she spoke. “She was great. I liked her a lot.”
“I’ll bet you miss her, hmm?”
“Yeah.”
“Chelsea, your dad said that Ms Noonan picked on you and embarrassed you in class. Did she centre you out in front of the other kids?”
Chelsea looked up briefly, then away again. “That was just my dad talking. She never did that. It was the other kids who picked on me.”
“Did Ms Noonan know they were doing that, Chelsea?”
“No.”
“So why did your dad think Ms Noonan was picking on you?”
Again, Chelsea looked briefly at the detective. “Sometimes it’s easier to tell Dad what he wants to hear.”
Singh tried to understand what Chelsea was telling her. “You mean, you told your father that the teacher was picking on you, even though she wasn’t?”
“Not exactly.”
Singh sighed. “Let me see if I have this right, Chelsea. You were unhappy at school, the other kids were the reason, but you let your father think it was the teacher doing it?”
Chelsea looked directly at Singh for the first time. She looked unhappy. “You don’t understand! Dad already didn’t like Ms Noonan. I don’t know why but he didn’t. I didn’t want him talking to the other kids. You don’t know what he’s like! He would have made it worse.”
“So you let him think it was your teacher causing the problems? And that’s why he went to the school and got so mad.”
Chelsea looked miserable. “I didn’t know he was going to do that. I liked Ms Noonan.”
“You poor thing!” Lori felt badly for the girl. “Chelsea, how much does your father drink?”
“Every day. Every night. I don’t know how much he has.”
“Does he ever hit you?”
“He wouldn’t do that.” Chelsea looked directly at her again. “He misses my mom. So do I.” The girl started to sniffle.
“Chelsea, I’m sorry.” Lori felt like giving the girl a hug. It was what she needed more than anything. “I have to ask this. Were you and your dad here last Friday night? He says the two of you were in the house the whole time.”
“I was here. So was he.” But she looked away again when she said it.
Lori pressed. “So you can swear that he was here the whole time?”
Chelsea said, barely loud enough for Lori to hear, “No.”
“Why not, Chelsea? Did he go out?”
“I don’t know. When he drinks a lot, I stay in my room. I go to bed about nine o’clock and put my earplugs in. So I can’t hear him.”
“Thank you, Chelsea.” Singh knew she had to say something else to comfort the girl. “It will all work out, you’ll see.” But would it?
Outside Wesson and Greg Parent stood in the backyard. In truth there wasn’t much to look at, just some tall, patchy grass and a few straggling bushes. There were actually more weeds than grass and the whole was surrounded by an old wooden fence, badly in need of repair. A rusty swing set stood in the corner of the yard.
“Mower’s broke. That’s why it looks like this.” Parent gloomily surveyed the mess.
“Your wife died four years ago, you said?”
“That’s right. The big C. Ovarian cancer. It wasn’t pretty.” Parent glanced at Wesson. “I know it doesn’t look like it, but I do my best for Chelsea.”
“I’m sure you do.” Karl wasn’t sure at all, but on the other hand, Child Services hadn’t removed the girl so maybe there was some truth in what Parent said. “Show me the garage, please, Mr. Parent.”
Once the garage door went up, Wesson could see why Parent’s rusty Jeep sat on the driveway. The garage was cluttered with stuff and parking a vehicle in it was out of the question. Wesson walked in and saw old furniture, empty cases of beer, cardboard boxes of junk and various garden tools propped up along the walls. There was an ancient wheelbarrow resting on a flat tire in one back corner and a dirty gas-powered lawnmower sitting in the other, a gas can beside it. “Why don’t you get it fixed?” Wesson asked, indicating the mower.
Parent shrugged. “Haven’t got around to it.”
“Well, sir, I advise you to do it soon. Or the city will come around and cut your grass for you and add it to your tax bill.”
Parent bristled. “Can we end this, please? I’ve got better things to do than listen to advice from you.”
“Alright, Mr. Parent. Let’s go back in.”
But as they walked back to the front door, Lori Singh came out. “I’m done, Karl.” To Greg Parent, she said, “You have a fine daughter, Mr. Parent. But she’s pretty upset. You could try talking to her a bit more. See what’s bothering her.”
“Piss off! Don’t walk in here and tell me how to bring up my own daughter! Now get out of here, both of you!” Parent went in the front door and slammed the door shut.
The two detectives walked back out to their cars. Wesson said, “Did you get anything, Lori?”
“That’s one unhappy girl, Karl. Oh, and he’s got no alibi.”
Lynnette Cranston was sweating when she had finished her exercise routine. The Fit Life hadn’t been busy this late in the evening. Lynnette normally went after school and today she actually hadn�
�t planned to go at all. But, sitting around her apartment, she had felt restless. And then she started thinking about what had happened to Sarah exactly a week before and she knew she had to get out. It had been more than a week since her last workout – time to get out and work up a sweat. It might make her feel better.
And it had. Lynnette felt tired but it was exactly what she needed after an emotional and stressful week at school. She mopped her face again with her towel, waved briefly to the young woman on duty and went out to her car. The club had showers but Lynnette felt self-conscious using them, preferring to bathe at home in the privacy of her own bathroom. It was only a short drive to her building but it was quite dark when she stepped out of her vehicle.
She slammed the car door and hit the close button on her car key. She started to walk into her building. Lynnette sensed some movement off to her left and almost instantly felt something hit her in the head. She fell hard onto her hands and knees, barely aware of what she was doing. She lost consciousness rapidly and slipped into blackness.
fifteen
Drumm enjoyed his first mug of coffee and the sports section of the paper, his usual Saturday morning routine. Will had been fed and let out in the back to bark and do his business and he was now resting contentedly at Drumm’s feet. Later on, Will would accompany his owner on a long walk around the neighbourhood. At least, that was the idea but Drumm knew that these kinds of plans often changed when he was on a murder investigation. And so it proved today, as his phone rang while he read about the latest loss for the Blue Jays.
“Drumm? Chappell here. I have news for you. The friend of your murder victim – Lynnette Cranston – was assaulted last night at her home.”
“What happened?” Drumm put down his paper and headed towards his bedroom, Will trotting along behind him.
“She was coming from a workout apparently; she had just gotten out of her car. Someone bashed her on the back of the head. This was in her apartment building’s parking lot. I gather she was knocked out. Another resident of the building came along and saw her on the pavement. She was able to frighten away the attacker.”
“Right, sir, I’m on it. Which hospital is she in?”
Chappell snorted. “She’s home already. Hospitals don’t keep anybody in any more, certainly not just for a bump on the head. She was looked at and then sent home.”
“And do we think it’s connected to Sarah Noonan’s murder, sir? Any other information?”
“That’s all I have, Drumm. Go and talk to her and find out. Let me know the results.” And Chappell hung up.
Lynnette Cranston looked terrible when she answered the knock on her door. Drumm and Lori Singh had arrived more or less together at her building. Lynnette’s eyes were red and swollen as if she had been crying, her hair a tangled mess, and there was an angry-looking scrape on her chin. She invited them in and motioned to the couch. They both declined the offer of something to drink.
“How are you feeling, Lynn?” asked Lori. “Pretty wonky, I expect.”
“I have a massive headache, some tenderness behind my ear and I’m a little shaky, but other than that, not too bad,” said Lynnette. “I suppose I’m lucky it wasn’t worse.”
“What did the hospital tell you?” asked Drumm.
“They said I had a mild concussion. This cut on my chin happened when I fell forward. I think I must have hit the pavement pretty hard.” She pulled up her track pants to show two scraped knees. “Got these, too. And these.” She showed them more abrasions on both palms.
“Ouch,” said Lori, with feeling. Having taken a tumble off her bike once, she knew how painful road rash could be. Still, it wasn’t serious and, as Lynnette had said, it could have been worse.
Drumm asked, “Did the hospital say what hit you? Did they have any idea?”
Lynnette frowned. “Blunt force trauma, the doctor called it. I guess that means it wasn’t anything pointy.”
Drumm persisted, “Like a baseball bat or something similar? Did they say? And did you see what hit you?”
“I didn’t see it, no, I didn’t see anything – it happened so fast. And they just said blunt force trauma. I don’t think they cared what it was that hit me.”
Lori said, “Maybe something smaller, Nick. A baseball bat would have crushed her skull, don’t you think? And a hammer or wrench would have done way more serious damage, drawn blood; it probably would have killed her.”
Drumm nodded. “Something much smaller, I agree, like a cop’s baton, or the old-fashioned sock full of coins.” To Lynnette he said, “You’re right, you were lucky indeed. Did you see the person who did this?”
Lynnette shook her head. “No. I just noticed some movement off to my side.” She winced as she moved her head too quickly. “Someone moved and then I felt something hit my head hard and then I don’t remember anything else.”
Drumm asked, “Could you tell if the someone was male or female? Any idea of height?”
“No.”
“Did you notice any particular smell? Or hear anything?” Drumm asked.
“No.”
“How about when you parked your car? Did you notice anyone hanging about? Anyone whom you recognized or a stranger? Anything out of the ordinary?”
“No, I’m sorry, I told all this to the other police already. I didn’t see anything at all. I’m not much help, I’m afraid.”
Drumm said, “This woman who saw what happened – Mrs. Irene Chambers – do you know her?”
“No, I don’t.”
Lori said, “It appears she may have saved your life, or at least further damage. She was a long way off but she shouted at your assailant and he got out of there. She said he was dressed in dark clothes and had his face covered with a hood so she couldn’t see his features at all. Medium height, she said. Mrs. Chambers walks with a cane so she couldn’t chase after him. She was more concerned with helping you, anyway. She thinks she may have heard a vehicle drive away but she’s not sure.”
Drumm asked, “Do you carry a purse, Ms Cranston? Could he have been after your money?”
Lynnette smiled weakly. “Who carries money these days? I certainly don’t. I pay for almost everything with plastic. And no, I don’t carry a purse. I just have a little wallet with my driver’s license and credit cards in it. I keep it in my gym bag and he didn’t take that.”
“But maybe he would have, if Mrs. Chambers hadn’t stopped him,” said Drumm. “Maybe that’s what he was after.”
Drumm stood up and Lori Singh followed suit. “Rest up, Ms Cranston, and take it easy,” he said. “Concussions, mild or not, are nothing to fool with. And you might want to be extra careful when you do go out. Don’t go to the gym after dark, for example. Take some simple precautions like that.”
“And get yourself a can of pepper spray or something similar,” said Lori. “A single woman can’t be too careful these days.”
Drumm and Singh said their goodbyes and then chatted briefly outside in the parking lot.
“Do you think it was a simple mugging, Nick?” Lori was curious.
“Oh, I don’t think so, do you? Too much of a coincidence, I’d say. Two female seventh-grade teachers from the same school, one killed, one bashed over the head. It might be just a mugging, but… remember the duck theory.”
“Um, the duck theory?” Lori was puzzled.
“Yes, if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, then it’s usually a duck. I think that applies here, don’t you?”
“State your name and occupation for the record.” Karl Wesson spoke formally; this interview was being videotaped.
“Douglas James Madsen. Operations Manager for Hobbes Transport.” Madsen looked nervous and fidgety.
“You understand you can have a lawyer present if you like?” Wesson had already advised him of this but did so now for the camera.
“I don’t need a lawyer. I ain’t done nothin’ wrong. I already told you.”
“Right then, Mr. Madsen. When we talked a few days ago,
you told me you didn’t know Sarah Noonan well at all. Do you want to change that statement?”
“Change it? Why would I change it?” Madsen was trying to appear surprised, Wesson could see, but was having difficulty pulling it off.
“Because we have a witness who saw you having sexual intercourse with Sarah Noonan. In a truck at the yard.” Wesson looked in a most interested way at Madsen who resembled a worm on a hook, he was squirming so much.
“Sex with Sarah? No way! I never did.” The moving around on the chair got worse.
“You know, Mr. Madsen, if you’re going to tell lies, it’s a good idea to try to sit still when you do it. Otherwise it looks kind of suspicious when you wiggle around like that.”
Madsen immediately sat up straight and stopped moving. “I never did.”
“Mr. Madsen, one of your former employees, Jack Melanson, saw you and he is prepared to swear to that in court.” He raised his voice. “Are you saying he’s lying, that he’s making it up?”
“He must be, cuz I never had sex with her.”
“Here’s what I think happened, Doug. May I call you Doug?” Wesson didn’t wait for an answer. “Sarah Noonan came down to the yard to meet her husband. He wasn’t there, maybe because he was late coming in, and you and she got to chatting. You had met her before and knew she was a sexy woman. She was dressed in a tight blouse and jeans and she got right up close to you. You’re a good-looking guy, and she wanted you right then and there. She was hot to trot, always looking for action, and you were handy. She came on to you and next thing you know, you were banging her. No crime in that, is there Doug?”
“That’s not what happened!” Madsen had been looking increasingly agitated as Wesson was speaking.
Satisfied, Karl said, “Tell me.”
“You’ve got to promise not to let my bosses know. They’d fire me!”
“They will definitely hear about it if you don’t co-operate. Talk!”
Madsen slumped. “Alright, she came down to meet Terry like you said, but she was wearing a skirt, not jeans.” He licked his lips. “I’d sent him out on another run, so he wasn’t there. She had to wait. I climbed up into a cab to get a logbook. She came right after me! Next thing I knew, the door was closed, she was kissing me and pulling my pants down. And then she used her mouth and, God, it had been so long! And then she stopped doing that and hiked her skirt up – she wasn’t wearing nothin’ underneath – and she got on top of me.”
An Indecent Death Page 14
