Lori rummaged through the papers on the table and came up with the lab report. “Let’s see, where is it? Here. That red plastic is consistent with coming off a child’s wagon or scooter or skateboard.” She looked at Drumm. “It doesn’t say anything about a car bumper.”
“I know,” said Drumm. “And the materials are quite different. Still, it’s a hell of a coincidence, isn’t it? We’ll have to check with the lab and see if it’s at all possible that piece came off his vehicle. And also, if there was enough room to get an SUV along that pathway. If there was, it sure would have been easy to get the body in there.” Drumm looked at Wesson. “What about Musjari, Karl?”
Karl grunted. “Well, I don’t like him and I don’t think too many people do. He’s a resentful, negative jerk and he was definitely interested in Sarah. He lied to us about his relationship with her and we only have his word for it that they never had sex. He has no alibi for the night she was killed; we don’t know about last night yet. He’s a strong, muscular guy, and he could easily have forced his way into the apartment. He lives close to Sarah’s building. I think he lusted after Sarah and ogled her at the gym. Probably he creeped her out, and she didn’t want anything to do with him. It’s possible he wouldn’t take no for an answer, went over to see her and he killed her in an angry rage.”
Lori objected, “But where did he get the GHB? And would she share a glass of wine with him? I think that’s doubtful.”
Drumm nodded and said, “I agree.”
Karl said, “I still think our Mr. Madsen is the guy. We know he had sex with the victim and he most likely wanted it again. He says he was at a bar the night she was killed and last night, but even taking him at his word, he was home early enough both nights to have committed the crimes. Besides, I bet Danny the bartender would cover for him, if they’ve known each as other as long as he says. That’s likely also his source for the GHB. I can quite easily see him drinking to get his courage up and then going over to her apartment. He’s not a bad-looking guy; she could have decided to let him in and have some more fun. Maybe she changed her mind and he gave her the drug, then killed her because he was afraid she’d remember him. The attack on Lynnette could be because he wanted to rape her too.” Karl looked at Drumm. “That last part is a stretch, I know, but I still like him for the murder. There was something about the way he reacted in that interview this morning that didn’t feel right. Well, you saw it. I think he’s our man.”
Drumm said, “Maybe.” But he didn’t look convinced. “Let’s not forget Kevin Callaghan. Again, he had sex with our victim, knew her well and could easily have gained entry to her apartment. In fact, of all these men, he’s the one she would have let in first, I think. But did he kill her? Why would he do that? I can’t think of any good reason why he should want to rape her or want her dead. And that goes for Lynnette too. What motive could he have for attacking her? I just can’t see it.”
Karl looked at Lori, then at Drumm. “Did we get anywhere with this little chat session? If we did, it’s not clear to me.”
Drumm stood up and stretched. “No, probably not. But at least it was a decent lunch.” He thought for a moment. “Lori, you need to go and see Lynnette and find out if she’s remembered anything else. Check with her neighbours again, and see if there’s anything at the scene that was missed. Also, go talk to Danny the bartender and find out how well he knows Madsen. And whether he’ll confirm his alibi. Karl and I will visit Mr. Terry Noonan and see if we can’t break him down. Besides, I want to see where he lives.”
Noonan lived in an older building on one of the city’s busier streets. It was one of those low-rise, dirty yellow-brick apartments that had been built just after the Second World War. It had seen better days and was now home to a poorer type of tenant than it had been built for originally. Drumm supposed that Terry Noonan, as a separated truck driver, qualified. He would be having difficulty just getting by on his salary, maybe even having to resort to a food bank from time to time as his money ran out at the end of each month.
The lobby of the building was dirty and smelled musty. It looked like it needed a good cleaning. Noonan lived in a ground floor unit; his view out the grimy window was of a few unkempt bushes and endless streams of busy traffic. All in all, thought Drumm, it was a pretty depressing place to live.
With bad grace Noonan admitted the two detectives into his apartment. They sat on his couch while he occupied the only armchair in the living room. The room was sparely decorated, and as cheerless as the rest of the building. Drumm could see a small kitchen off to the side, along with a single bedroom and bathroom. Like the lobby, there was an odd, unpleasant odour to the place. Drumm wondered if the other apartments in the building smelled the same.
“Nice place you got here, Mr. Noonan.” Drumm was being facetious; Noonan knew it, and he didn’t like it.
“It’s a dump but it’s all I can afford. I don’t have a huge salary like you cops.” He looked angrily at the two detectives. “And no pension either.” Noonan wore the same blue jeans as before, or a pair just like them, and an old black sweatshirt. He was unshaven and his hair looked like it needed a wash.
“Do you know Lynnette Cranston?” asked Karl.
“Sure I know Lynnie. Why?”
“How well do you know her?” Karl held a notebook, prepared to write down anything important.
“She’s Sarah’s friend. I’ve talked to her at school a few times is all. Why do you want to know?”
Drumm said, “Because she was attacked last night, that’s why. Know anything about that, Terry?”
“Attacked? What do you mean?”
“Attacked. Hit on the head. Knocked unconscious. I repeat, do you know anything about it?” asked Drumm.
“No, I don’t,” said Noonan. “You think I did it? And you think I killed my wife too. Anything else you want to accuse me of?”
Wesson said, “Lynnette Cranston was assaulted last night at her apartment building. Someone hit her on the head but another resident scared off her attacker before anything serious happened. We are trying to figure out who did it and why. Now, can you tell us where you were last evening?”
“Sure. I was driving. I took a load to London, came back via Woodstock. Check with Hobbes.”
“What time did you get back to the yard?” asked Drumm.
“Eight-fifteen. It’s all in my logbook. Check it out.” He folded his arms and stared at them.
“Lynnette was attacked at about nine thirty,” said Drumm. “So you had plenty of time to get over there and do it.”
“Over where? I don’t even know where Lynn lives, for Chrissake! And why would I want to hit her? I like Lynnie.”
“Let’s go back to the night your wife was strangled,” said Drumm. “You were here, you said. Can anyone confirm that?”
Noonan set his mouth in a firm line. “I already told you, I was here – by myself – watching baseball. And no, nobody was here. I wish there was someone so that I could get you guys off my back!”
“Where did you get the GHB, Terry?” asked Drumm suddenly.
Noonan looked surprised. “GHB? What are you talking about now?”
Karl said, “It’s a drug, sir, a date rape drug. It was given to your wife. Where did you get it?”
Noonan looked at Wesson, then over at Drumm. “You two are nuts. I’ve never even heard of GHB! Drug my wife? What the hell are you talking about?”
Drumm said, “Someone drugged and killed your wife, Terry. Last Friday night. When you say you were here all by yourself. Watching baseball. And someone attacked Lynnette Cranston last night. When you were out on the street. Again, by yourself. That’s what we’re talking about.”
Noonan stood up. “I told you before, and I’m telling you again now: you’ve got the wrong guy. It wasn’t me. So you can get out of here and leave me alone. Come back again, you better bring a warrant. Cuz I’m done talking to you. Now get out.”
It had been another frustrating afternoon for Lori
Singh. She was starting to wonder why Drumm kept giving her this kind of assignment. She realized that there was a lot of grunt work in a murder investigation, but why did it seem that she was doing most of it? She appreciated that she was the junior member of the team but still… And, to be fair, she did have some rapport with Lynnette Cranston that Drumm and Wesson didn’t have. That only helped a little, though.
She had dutifully talked to Lynnette again, gone over the events of the previous evening one more time. She had talked to Irene Chambers to see if the good Samaritan had remembered anything else that could be of use to them. She had gone up and down the halls of Lynnette’s building, speaking to as many of Lynnette’s neighbours as were home. She had paced back and forth in the parking lot, looking for anything that had been missed before, trying to discover where Lynnette’s assailant had stood waiting, where he might have parked his car, anything at all.
And the result had been nothing, zilch, nada. It had been a complete and utter waste of time, and she suspected Drumm had known it would be but had asked her to do it anyway.
Danny the bartender was Daniel Bartnik, a man in his fifties, with grey hair and a weary, cynical demeanour. He had confirmed Madsen’s story in every particular.
“He comes in here every Friday night and has a couple of beers. Three at the most. And then he’s gone.” Bartnik was definite.
Lori asked if Madsen had ever wanted drugs.
Bartnik looked at her in disbelief. “Doug? You sure you have the right guy? I mean, you’ve got to be kidding, right?” The bartender’s face changed. “And I won’t have it said that I’m a drug dealer. You can get out of my bar now.”
Danny the bartender was pretty clearly not a source of date rape drugs. Not that she had ever thought so; that was Karl’s idea.
Lori was looking forward to a good meal and a relaxing evening at home. It was Saturday night after all – she deserved some time to herself. Maybe a nice glass of Chardonnay, maybe two. She could order in some Chinese food and spoil herself. Maybe that would help dissipate the sour feeling she had that her talents were being wasted and her career was going nowhere.
Drumm could only smile and shake his head. Every now and then, usually when he hadn’t been walked enough, Will would go into his figure-eight routine. He did it now. Drumm had walked Will over to his local park and let him off his lead. Strictly speaking he wasn’t supposed to do that but Will was no threat to anybody. The dog didn’t have an aggressive bone in his body, wouldn’t even hurt a squirrel if one were stupid enough to get caught on the rare occasions when Will even noticed them.
The figure-eight routine was a sight to behold. There was a beach volleyball court in the park and Will raced around it at the moment, tracing out an eight as he did so. Around and around he went. The dog was on about his sixth lap and sand kept flying up as Will tried his best to set a land speed record. He would keep it up, Drumm knew, until he had burned off some of his excess energy. He had no idea why Shelties ran in a figure-eight pattern but he had seen others do it, so he knew it wasn’t just that Will was crazy. Even though he suspected it at times.
Will finally gave up on the laps and came over to Drumm, as if for approval. Drumm looked at his dog, who hardly seemed out of breath, and gave him some Cheerios as a reward, saying, “Good boy, Will.” Walking with Will was a pleasing way to end his Saturday. Drumm’s day had started well with newspaper and coffee and it was finishing well, but in between hadn’t been so great.
He’d been hoping to get together with Emily but the attack on Lynnette had put a stop to that. He supposed he could have met Emily tonight but he was simply too tired. And there was Will to consider as well. No, Emily had to wait, as she had done so many times before. They did say that absence made the heart grow fonder. Emily hadn’t been impressed, though, and her manner had been frosty when they spoke on the phone earlier.
“It’s Saturday night, Nick! I thought we were going out.”
“Not tonight, Em. I just can’t, I’m too tired. It was a helluva day. Another teacher from Elmdale was attacked last night, and we spent all day following up. I’ve got nothing left.”
There had been a chilly silence and then Emily said, “It’s the same old, same old, isn’t it, Nick? Work comes first. You have plenty of energy when it comes to your job, but you can’t find it within yourself to spend a few hours with me.”
Drumm knew that it was disappointment making Emily speak this way but that didn’t make it any easier to take. Besides, she was right. He could have found some time for her.
“Don’t start, Emily. Please.”
“I don’t think you’re ever going to change, Nick. I don’t think you can change.”
“Emily—”
But she had hung up on him. Which was a good thing, because he was about to remind her that she was supposed to change, not him, and that would probably just have made things worse. This is what Emily had done before, get emotional and inconsistent, say something one day and something completely different another day, and the whole situation would tie him in knots.
The attack on Lynnette was unsettling, too. Was it just a random mugging after all? It was hard to make a case that it was connected to the murder. But surely it was too much of a coincidence. The trouble was, though, that he couldn’t seem to get anywhere in connecting any of the suspects to Lynnette’s attack. As discouraging as the day had been, though, Drumm still felt that he was making progress. He wasn’t there yet, not by a long shot, but he no longer felt like he was swimming in glue. He thought he knew what had happened, or rather what hadn’t happened. And tomorrow maybe some of his questions would get answered. The next day was Sunday, a day of rest for many, but he knew it wouldn’t be for him.
seventeen
Kevin Callaghan lived in a century home on a quiet tree-lined street in an older part of the city. It was a two-story structure with an enclosed porch extending around three sides of the house, one of those buildings that was pleasing to the eye but required a lot of work to keep it looking that way. The grounds weren’t as nice as the house, although they might once have been; the garden edges were ragged and the tulips and other plants were struggling for room with the weeds. It was a big place for a single young male to maintain.
Callaghan answered the door to Drumm’s knock, dressed in a pair of running shorts and Nike tee-shirt. He had earbuds in and a music player strapped to his upper arm. “Detective! I was just about to go out for some exercise. What can I do for you?”
“I’ll need you to put that off for a bit, Mr. Callaghan. If you don’t mind. I need to ask you a few questions.” Drumm was friendly but firm, giving the teacher no choice but to step back and motion him in. They sat in the living room, a high-ceilinged room with plenty of light and modern furniture.
“This is a century home, isn’t it? Strange choice for a young man such as yourself. But I like what you’ve done with it.”
Callaghan was a bit off-balance, Drumm could see. “Oh, thanks. But I can’t take much credit for making the place look good. That was Julie’s doing.” Callaghan continued, “Julie was my former girlfriend. We broke up about six months ago. She left me, actually. But Julie bought most of the furniture; she did the decorating.”
“It’s a pretty big property for just one person, isn’t it? How do you keep up?”
Callaghan smiled ruefully. “Well, the truth is, I don’t keep up. I can just about manage the inside, but the gardens and lawns make me tired just looking at them. I’m afraid the weeds are winning.”
Drumm said, “I was impressed with your candour the other day. I’m hoping you’ll be as forthcoming today.” Drumm put his fingers together and leaned forward. “You said your girlfriend – Julie, wasn’t it? – had left you. Was that anything to do with Sarah Noonan?”
Callaghan looked away, then stood up. “I need something to drink. You want anything?” At Drumm’s shake of the head, Callaghan said, “Be right back.”
Drumm watched him leave for the
kitchen and sat back waiting. Well, that was an interesting reaction, he thought.
Callaghan returned quickly carrying a glass of water and ice cubes. Drumm could hear them clinking as Callaghan sat down.
“You’re a sharp guy, aren’t you, Detective Drumm? Yes, the truth is, Julie left me because of Sarah. She, ah… didn’t exactly approve of my relationship with her.”
“You told Julie about Sarah?” Drumm was surprised.
“Not to say I told her, no. She found out.”
“How? Did someone tell her?” Drumm was thinking of Pierre Pepin.
Callaghan looked sheepish. “No, it wasn’t anything like that. She found some pictures that I had of Sarah. On my laptop.”
“You had photos of Sarah Noonan on your laptop? What kind of photos?”
Callaghan grinned. He was just like an impish schoolboy, thought Drumm. “Well, she didn’t have a lot of clothing on,” said Callaghan.
“You had nude pictures of Sarah Noonan on your laptop?” He probably shouldn’t be surprised, he thought. “Where did you get them?”
Callaghan grinned again. He was clearly enjoying himself. “I took them, actually. But they weren’t all nudes. She was just showing off a bit, mostly.”
“What happened to these photos?”
“Oh, nothing happened to them; I still have them.”
“You know I have to see them, right, Mr. Callaghan?”
Callaghan nodded. “Sure. As soon as I told you about Julie, I knew the stuff about the photos would come out.” He stood up. “I decided you had to know about them, even if it does make me look bad. Because it shows you what kind of woman she was. I’ll go get the laptop.”
Callaghan returned inside of a minute.
As they were waiting for the computer to boot, Drumm said, “Tell me what I’m going to see. Where were they taken, for example?”
An Indecent Death Page 16
