An Indecent Death

by David Anderson

  “Dirty pool, Detective. Alright. Anything to get you out of here quicker.” He led the way through the kitchen to a sitting room with French doors that opened out to a deck, on which sat an expensive patio set and barbecue.

  “Nice,” said Drumm. He pointed to the garden shed. It was more like a small house. “Let’s see inside it, please.”

  Wordlessly, Shaughnessy walked to the building, opened the doors (also French doors) and stood aside. Drumm stepped inside carefully, looked around and then switched on the light. It was, as he expected, tidy and organized. There was a large and expensive lawnmower and various power tools mounted on one wall. The other had the standard array of hand tools, all clean and carefully arranged. There was a door leading to another room at the back of the building. When he opened it, Drumm discovered it was actually two rooms. One was a large bathroom complete with toilet, counter and sink. The other was another smaller storage room. It had a pile of blue plastic tarpaulins in one corner, a fold-up red garden caddy in another, and bags of lawn fertilizer and grass seed. Normal garden things which one would find in most houses.

  Drumm turned to Shaughnessy. “The garage now, please.”

  Again without a word, Shaughnessy led the way around the side of the garage to the front. He entered a code on the keypad mounted on the wall, causing the garage door to slide upwards, and stepped back. As the light flooded into the garage, Drumm saw the Lexus, clean and shiny in the morning light. The tools on the wall were duplicates of the ones in the shed. Drumm supposed that with such a big property and no shortage of money, it was more convenient to keep two sets of tools handy, in front and in back. He pointed at the Lexus. “How old is it?”

  “I’ve had it two years. But that’s all I’m going to say. About anything. I want you to leave now. I’ve done what you wanted and it’s time for you to go. If you want to see anything else, come back with your warrant. And don’t imagine I’m intimidated by your threat to make a big scene in front of my neighbours. I’m not. And I’ll have nothing further to say to you without my lawyer present.”

  Drumm shrugged and moved to the front of the car. “OK then.” The Lexus was undamaged, as he knew it would be. But he had gotten what he wanted. “You can expect us to be back, Mr. Shaughnessy. And when we come, we’ll have a nice chat about wine.” He walked out of the garage, turned and smiled briefly, and said, “Have a good day.”

  As Drumm backed out of the principal’s driveway, Shaughnessy was staring at him. Drumm hoped he’d ruined the man’s day.

  Drumm’s blood sugar reading was 9.2 and he had a headache. He felt a little nauseous as well and his hands were shaking. None of this was unexpected. He’d had a stressful day, culminating at work in a tense conversation with his boss. He hadn’t been able to eat properly. And even though he’d tried to unwind by walking with Will, he was still quite uptight. Mark Chappell had been all over him in their latest daily conversation. The Staff Inspector had snorted derisively when told that their chief suspect now had an alibi for the night of the attack on Lynnette Cranston. “That’s just great, Drumm. Ten days into the investigation and you’re nowhere.”

  “We’re not exactly nowhere, sir, to be fair,” protested Drumm. He didn’t say anything else because by and large, Chappell was right. Besides, he didn’t believe in whining. It was his job to solve cases. He hadn’t solved this one and the Staff Inspector was entitled to be angry.

  “It would be nice to get to a place that’s a step beyond ‘not exactly nowhere’, Drumm,” said Chappell. When his boss became sarcastic, Drumm knew the pressure was on him. At such times, Drumm found it helpful to sympathize with Chappell’s situation.

  “I’m sure you’re taking a lot of heat, sir. I appreciate you covering for me.”

  “It’s my job,” snapped Chappell. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d complete yours as soon as possible.” And he’d hung up.

  Before that edifying conversation, Drumm had the unpleasant task of confronting Karl Wesson. Wesson was defensive when Drumm brought up the question of his lateness.

  “With respect, I don’t see as how it’s any of your business,” Karl said. “It’s between me and Pilson. And he’s already said his piece to me.”

  “We’re just concerned, Karl, that’s all.”

  “We? Who’s we?”

  “Lori Singh and I are worried about you, Karl. You haven’t seemed yourself lately. We’ve both noticed it, and we were wondering what was bothering you.”

  “Nothing’s bothering me. Sir.”

  “Don’t give me that, Karl. We’ve known each other a long time. And something is bugging you, it’s obvious. If you don’t want to talk to me, then I have the number of the police counseling service. At least get in touch with them.”

  But Karl had made it clear that he didn’t intend to call anyone, even though he took the counselor’s card. And he avoided eye contact and unnecessary conversation with Drumm for the rest of their time together.

  Drumm took some aspirin and waited for the pills to take effect. After a long while his headache began to fade and he felt calmer. He was looking forward to a good night’s sleep and a fresh start tomorrow.

  nineteen

  In the morning, Drumm did feel better, physically and mentally. His blood sugar reading was 6.2 when he got out of bed. At 5:00 a.m. Emily was still sleeping soundly beside him with her tangled hair spread out on the pillow. She had come over late, after a lengthy back and forth offer on a home she was selling. They talked briefly before falling asleep in each other’s arms, too tired to do much else. Looking at her now, he wanted to wake Emily up with a kiss and spend a leisurely morning snuggling with her in bed. Instead he fed Will and took him for a brisk walk, organizing his thoughts and planning his day as he did so. When he got back, Emily had already gone, leaving him a little note of apology for her early departure.

  At the office, Drumm decided to go over everything again: lab reports, witness statements, the FIS reports, all the transcripts from interviewing suspects and the school board’s personnel records. He had been at this for a couple of hours while Smith and Wesson were following up on the latest tips that had been called into the hotline. These would likely amount to nothing, as all the previous ones had, but chasing them down had to be done. Drumm put down Donald Musjari’s file, rubbed his eyes and stretched and got up to pour a mug of coffee. So far, other than refreshing his memory, he had been wasting his time. “Won’t get done by looking at it,” he said aloud.

  Drumm sat down with his coffee and on an impulse, found Lynnette Cranston’s personnel file. It was one that he had only glanced at quickly before, as it had become obvious that Lynnette had not killed her friend. Or attacked herself.

  The file contained principal evaluations that had been done on Lynnette throughout her career, the latest one having been completed by James Shaughnessy. She had been rated “Very Good” in this last one. There were her university transcripts, a copy of her contract, and a number of certificates, indicating Lynnette’s participation in various staff development courses. Drumm shuffled through these, noting one for workplace health and safety, another for first aid and a third one, presented jointly to Lynnette and Cassie Middleton for “special achievement in website development” at a workshop at Pinehurst Central Elementary School. Whatever that was, thought Drumm. Still, something about this last certificate was nagging at him. Why on earth would such an innocuous piece of paper be calling to him? Cassie Middleton. Lynnette Cranston. Pinehurst Central Elementary School. He was missing something, clearly.

  It took him another half hour to find the connection. He went again through the files for Bill Deans, Kevin Callaghan, Pierre Pepin, Donald Musjari and James Shaughnessy. It was in the principal’s record of employment that he found what he was looking for. Before he had moved to Elmdale Elementary School, Jim Shaughnessy had been principal of Pinehurst Central Elementary School. And Drumm knew that this was significant, even though he didn’t yet know why.

  He
picked up the phone and entered Lynnette’s home number.

  “Lynnette? Detective Sergeant Drumm here. How are you feeling today?”

  “Maybe a little better, Detective, thanks. Not as shaky I guess.” Lynnette’s voice sounded strong, he thought.

  “Good. I’m calling because of something I just read in your personnel file.” Drumm explained about the certificate and the fact that James Shaughnessy had been the principal there. “Who is this Cassie Middleton?”

  “Cassie? She’s a friend from way back, from Teachers College actually.” Lynnette sounded puzzled. “But why is that important?”

  Drumm said, “I hardly know. You two worked on a project together? Something to do with websites?”

  “That’s right,” Lynnette said. “We learned how to put together a school website.”

  “When was the last time you talked to her?”

  “Oh, it’s been ages.” Lynnette paused for a few seconds. “I’m going to say about six months ago. We got together for a drink.”

  “Did she know Sarah?”

  “I don’t think so. No,” she said.

  “Does she know James Shaughnessy?” Drumm asked.

  “She’s heard me talk about him, of course. But as for knowing him, I don’t think so, no. Oh. No, definitely not. I‘m just remembering a conversation I had with Jim. I mentioned I was going to call her last week. And that she was teaching at Pinehurst where he used to be principal.”

  “What day was that, Lynnette?”

  Lynnette was silent for a few seconds, then said, “It was Thursday, after the staff meeting. Jim spoke to me privately after the meeting. He was concerned about how I was dealing with Sarah’s death. He said I should talk to somebody, maybe a grief counselor or a friend. I said I would call Cassie.”

  “So you did speak to her recently.” Drumm said.

  “No, I never did. The next evening was when I was attacked and it went right out of my head. So I never did call her at all.”

  “Did Shaughnessy say anything about Cassie?” Drumm asked.

  “Only that he didn’t know her. He left there before she transferred in.”

  Drumm thought for a minute. “OK, Lynnette, thanks. I’d better go and see her. Do me a favour and don’t tell her I’m coming. And take care of yourself.”

  Drumm ended the call. Then he dialed Karl Wesson’s number to fill him in on this latest development.

  Unlike Elmdale, Pinehurst Central did have plenty of trees of the type for which it was named. Drumm saw a small pine wood off in the side yard when he entered the building. The school’s vice-principal had kindly agreed to take over Cassie Middleton’s fifth-grade class so that Drumm could talk to her privately. Having a meaningful conversation with an adult in a junior classroom would have been next to impossible.

  Cassie Middleton was a pretty woman, close in years to Lynnette. She was tall and thin with short hair, dressed conservatively in pants and blouse, and wearing thick glasses. She was puzzled, Drumm could see, as to why a police officer from the Violent Crimes Unit would want to see her. He took some considerable time to give her the background she needed, and why he was calling upon her.

  Cassie was sympathetic and remorseful. “I should have called Lynn; I don’t know why I didn’t. Too busy, I guess, and we’ve drifted apart. But still, I should have phoned her. It sounds like she could have used someone to talk to. I’ll definitely call her when I get home from school tonight.” She paused. “Anyway, how can I help you, Detective?” She looked at his card. “Detective Sergeant, I mean.”

  “We’ve been trying to determine why someone would attack Lynnette. There is the possibility that she was just the random victim of a mugging, but that theory doesn’t hold water with me. It just seems like too much of a coincidence, two teachers from the same school being attacked a week apart. So then we started to investigate if there was some kind of connection, beyond the obvious, between Lynnette and other members of the staff. And that’s how your name came up.” Drumm explained about the certificate in the personnel file which had led him to Pinehurst. “Lynnette was mugged in her building’s parking lot the day after she mentioned to someone that she was going to call you. Another coincidence? I think not. Every bone in my suspicious cop’s body tells me something is wrong here.”

  Cassie stared at him. “Who did she mention it to?”

  “Her principal, Jim Shaughnessy. Do you know him?”

  “Her principal? Surely not! I mean, I don’t know him but her principal?” Cassie’s voice had risen in disbelief.

  Drumm said, “It doesn’t necessarily mean anything at all. But I was wondering, is there something you know about him or some of her colleagues: Bill Deans, Donald Musjari, Kevin Callaghan, Pierre Pepin? They’re all suspects in the murder of Sarah Noonan.”

  “Well, I’ve heard Lynnette mention most of those names, of course, but as for knowing something, what on earth could it possibly be? I have no clue.”

  Drumm pressed on. “Sarah Noonan was something of a tease. Well, she was more than that actually.” He gave her some of the details of Sarah’s life and watched as a shocked expression came over Cassie’s face.

  “Lynn said she was a flirt and a hot dresser but I had no idea!”

  “We think she let her attacker in because she knew him. They had wine together and he likely slipped a date rape drug into her glass, then strangled her.”

  “He gave her a roofie? But why would he want to knock her out and then kill her? It doesn’t make sense!”

  “We think maybe she woke up prematurely when the GHB wore off and he killed her in a panic.”

  Cassie Middleton looked startled. “Wait a second – I’m remembering something. A little bell is ringing. GHB…”

  Drumm leaned forward. “What is it?”

  “I’m remembering a discussion I had in my class earlier in the year. The kids were divided into groups and I was moving around the room, trying to get them to stay on topic. They were supposed to be brainstorming the names of helpful and harmful drugs. Most of them did okay, writing down things like heroin and marijuana. But one group was giggling quite a lot. So I went over to see what the fuss was about. Turns out one of the boys had mentioned GHB and he was explaining what it was for. He was getting quite a reaction from the girls in the group, which was what he wanted, of course.”

  Drumm asked, “His name?”

  “Um, Chase Cooper. A little devil.”

  “So he was talking about GHB? Anything else?”

  Cassie said, “Well, I naturally questioned him about it, in private of course. He said he heard about it because a grade eight boy had been talking about it. As I remember, Chase said this older kid brought some to school to show off.”

  Drumm asked, “Where did the grade eight boy get it?”

  “Chase didn’t know. And he didn’t know the kid’s name either.”

  Drumm asked, “And this was this year?”

  Cassie said, “The discussion was this year, yes. But the kid brought it to school last year.”

  “Last year?” Drumm was intent. “And the principal last year was—”

  “—Jim Shaughnessy, yes.” Cassie’s hand went to her mouth, horrified.

  “Cassie, did Chase know what happened to the GHB?”

  Cassie looked shaken. “He said the principal confiscated it.”

  “And did you take any further action?” Drumm asked. “Like tell your principal, for example?”

  “No, I didn’t do anything else. Should I have, do you think? It was all over and dealt with in the past, I thought. To tell the truth, I’d forgotten all about it. It seemed like such a minor thing.”

  Drumm soothed her. “No, no, you did the right thing, I’m sure. I wouldn’t mention this to anyone else, though.”

  Cassie looked at him. “What are you going to do now, Detective Sergeant?”

  Drumm had a little smile on his face. “Oh, I think you can probably guess. Can’t you?”

  Drumm, Wesson and L
ori stood on Jim Shaughnessy’s porch, waiting for the search warrants and watching the rain falling. The property looked completely different in the afternoon drizzle, not nearly as appealing as the day before. They’d been waiting for a while, long enough for Drumm to realize that he had a problem. Karl Wesson had been drinking. Not only could Drumm smell the booze on Karl’s breath, Wesson’s eyes had that glazed look of someone who had drunk a lot of alcohol. Karl was leaning against a pillar and Drumm could almost see the fumes around him. This wouldn’t do. The FIS team would be arriving shortly and Drumm knew that Karl would be immediately suspended should he be caught drunk on duty. And, in his present condition, he surely would be. The original plan had been for the three of them to have time to look around and talk to Shaughnessy, should he be there. It was fortunate that it had worked out like this, so he had time to get Karl out of the way before anyone else saw him.

  Wesson looked dreadful. He was pale and he had huge dark smudges under his eyes. His nose was red and, uncharacteristically for him, his clothing was untidy. His pants had some kind of mark on them and his shirttail was out. Drumm could just see it peeking out underneath Karl’s jacket.

  “Karl, a word with you. My car, please.” Drumm looked warningly at Lori, telling her with his eyes not to say anything. He strode towards the Miata and Karl reluctantly followed him.

  “Karl, you’re going to get in your car and stay there.” As Wesson opened his mouth to protest, Drumm went on angrily, “You’re drunk on duty. If anyone sees you, you’re a dead duck. Get in your car and lie low.” Drumm scowled at Wesson’s look and said, “Yes?”