“Thanks, Will. Next time I see you and your people at Stamps, I’ve got the first round.”
“One more thing,” Drummond called after him. “The Marlboro butts found in the Discovery Park were smoked by the same person who left the ones in the lane.”
“Thought the DNA work was weeks off?”
“Saliva has the same proteins as blood. It’s not perfect, but it’s a pretty good indicator. The DNA profile will confirm it.”
In the elevator, Staal took inventory of the case facts. Douglas was in the clear, he had no suspect, but it looked like one killer had committed all three homicides.
In the detective squad area, Staal studied the files from all three murders. He re-read his own canvass interviews and those of Gooch, Fraser, Murdocco, and Degarmo. He came to a phone contact list from Gabriel Haywood’s phone book. He noticed that Murdocco had crossed all the names off the list except one.
Staal Found Murdocco and Degarmo in the coffee room. “You guys got a minute?”
“Yeah, Staal, what’s up?” Murdocco asked. Some of the tension from the Thirsty Gull remained in Murdocco’s tone.
“Just a little pow-wow to see where we are at with Birthday Boy. I’m bringing everyone in here in five minutes.”
“There is no ‘we’, Staal. This is an IHIT case—remember?”
Staal smiled and walked out.
“Fraser, Gina. I’m getting us all together in the coffee room in five,” Staal said when he passed Fraser’s desk. He made a straight line over to where Gooch was finishing up a call.
“Jack, I think we need to have a sit down. Wakamatsu has a lead in the bank case,” Gooch said as she hung up the phone. She glanced over at Fraser and Hayes as they both pushed through the swinging coffee room door. “Coffee room?”
Staal nodded, picked up the file folder, and retraced his steps.
“Okay,” Gooch began. “As you all may well know, Mathew Douglas is clear as a suspect. I have the preliminary reports from both Wong and Drummond.”
She read the reports, summarizing what Staal had found out during his visit to Drummond’s lab. “We all agree that this guy stalks these women, learns their routines?” Staal said when she was finished. “I think he must follow his victims for weeks, perhaps even interacts with them, and plots his attack according to the victim’s day-to-day patterns.” He waited for any comments.
“We have done intense canvassing and interviews of the friends, co-workers, neighbors, and family of McKay and Haywood. We know that the man in black was spotted in the neighborhood of Stephanie Haywood as well as Dell’s diner. Despite the Douglas arrest failure, do we still agree that man-in-black is our guy?” Gooch paused to see that all were in concurrence. She tapped the composite drawing, and then set it down again.
“Pitman is ready to release the composites to the media,” Murdocco said. “Hopefully we can get it run on the noon news as well as the six and the late news. Are you guys available to take calls?”
Staal glanced at Gooch, and she nodded. “Yeah, Nick. We’re in.”
Staal opened the file to Haywood’s phone book. To Murdocco he said, “You interviewed Haywood’s contacts, her real-estate costumers. This one, Mathew Affleck, is circled. You guys couldn’t find him?”
“Nah, it was disconnected,” Murdocco said.
“Shit! Murdocco, that’s our guy.” Staal picked up the desk phone and called the number for Affleck. A computer recording answered. “The number you have dialed is not in service.”
Staal made another call to the cellular phone company named in the recording and told the operator he needed to know when the number was disconnected. “The unit was reported lost on March 22, and service was terminated on April second of this year.”
Staal covered the phone’s receiver against his chest. “Jesus Christ, Murdocco, it was cancelled a day after Haywood was killed.” To the operator he said, “I need to know the name and address of the registered owner of that phone.”
“Sorry, Detective, that is private and confidential information.”
“Lady, I’m investigating three God-damn homicides that could be connected to that phone. Don’t make me get a warrant.”
The operator hesitated. “Okay, Detective,” she continued in a lower voice, “but you didn’t get this from me. Jennifer Arlene Longley.” She gave an address and a landline number, then abruptly terminated the call.
“Ben Affleck, Matt Damon, both are actors. Our guy flipped the name, stole a cell phone, and used it to talk to Haywood,” Gooch said.
“Fuck!” Staal threw the file down in front of Murdocco. “He posed as an interested buyer looking for a townhouse. This Matt Affleck name is written on Haywood’s desk blotter and in her appointment book. She showed the guy an apartment on the thirtieth of March. Two days before she was killed.” He glared at Murdocco. “Damn it, Nick. Longley could have been a link to the killer.”
“There’s no address for the showing,” Murdocco said softly. “We didn’t have a likeness or even a description of B.B. to show Longley.”
“We have a record of all of Haywood’s real estate listings for this year,” Wakamatsu said. “I’ll go and find it for you.”
“Great. Thanks, Cam,” Gooch said. “I’ll call this Jennifer Longley.”
“Hold on a sec. This is still an IHIT case!” Murdocco pushed between Gooch and Staal. “I will make that call and Degarmo will run down this real estate angle.
“Sure, Nick. You do that.” Staal shook his head.
Before Staal and Gooch could leave the coffee room, a secretary poked her head in and said, “Detective Staal—call on line two.”
Staal pressed the line button and answered, “Yeah?”
“Detective Staal. Margaret Klassen, from the Hanson Post. I’ve got something here that you’re going to want to see.”
“Maggie, I’m real busy. Can I call you back?” Staal had given Klassen information for stories in the past. She had often expressed a romantic interest in him, so he assumed this was about her wanting to get together.
“No, Jack. This is important. I just received a bizarre fax at my office number.”
“Well, what’s it say?”
“It says, ‘Stop calling me Birthday Boy. I am Damian Knight.’ He sent it to me, Jack.”
“Shit! That’s all it says?”
“That’s it.”
“Don’t move on this, Maggie. I’ll be there in ten.”
Staal pulled the Impala up to the Hanson Post employee parking lot security gate. He flashed the attendant his shield and drove through when the gate rose.
“Is that her?” Gooch asked, pointing to an attractive blonde, about thirty-five years old, standing outside the rear entrance.
“That’s her,” Staal said, smiling when he remembered how Gina Hayes disliked the reporter’s way of using her sexuality to help pry information from men.
Gooch’s cell chirped, but she ignored it after checking the caller ID.
Klassen lead them through a maze of offices to her desk. The PC monitor screen-saver on her desk panned from scene to scene of a ski resort that Staal recognized as Whistler Mountain and the Alpine Olympic ski team. In front of the computer was the facsimile that allegedly came from the killer. He held up the sheet and stared at the angry block capitals.
DON’T CALL ME BIRTHDAY BOY!
I AM DAMIAN KNIGHT!
“No cover sheet?”
“Nope. You owe me big time on this one, Jack,” Klassen said.
“What could Detective Staal possible owe you for handing over evidence in a homicide investigation?” Gooch asked sarcastically.
“I just—I only hope that you talk to me first when you release any facts in this story,” Klassen answered.
Staal slid the fax sheet into an evidence bag as his cell pulsed in his pocket.
“Staal? It’s Barnes. Channel Nine News just received the same fax as the Post. Hayes and Fraser are rolling on it now.”
“Thanks, Max.” Sta
al turned to Gooch. “Channel Nine News got it, too.”
He examined the paper again. Small letters in the left corner revealed that the fax had originated with a Fed Ex machine. Staal dialed the number and suffered through several minutes transferring from department to department.
“Yeah, I need to know which of your pay machines sent a fax to this number.” Staal gave the operator Klassen’s fax number.
“Detective, could you tell me the ten-digit number in the bottom right corner of the facsimile?”
Staal read it to her. “250-989-3232.”
“It was sent from a machine in the Westlake Mall, 400 Pine, Hanson, B.C.”
“Would that be in a stationery store or...?”
“No, sir, it is somewhere in the shopping center. Much like a Coke machine would be.”
“Rachael. The machine is in Westlake Mall. Let’s roll.”
Staal flipped on the siren and lights in the Impala and sped from the Post lot. Gooch pulled out her cell phone and made a series of calls.
“Mall security says the machine is near a Grand and Toy office supply store, near the food court,” she told him when she was done.
Staal parked the Impala at the mall entrance closest to the machine and removed his crime scene bag from the trunk. They entered the mall and were immediately hit with an onslaught of fast food smells and loud voices. He scanned the area.
“There!” He pointed toward a machine standing just outside Grand and Toy, near a coin-op rocking horse. A tall black woman was just feeding a document into it.
“Police. Step away from the fax,” Gooch ordered. She held her shield out in front of her.
“What the hell?” The woman stepped back, alarmed.
Staal pulled on rubber gloves, set his duffle bag down, and lifted a sheet from the out tray of the machine. He looked it over. “This yours?”
The woman snatched it from him and stalked away.
“I’ll seal this corner for Drummond’s people,” Staal said to his partner.
When he looked up, a mall security guard was watching him. The guard’s nametag said Jesse. Jesse was a walking stereotype; over weight, coffee stained shirt, and a confident swagger in his step.
“Does this machine get cleaned regularly?” Staal asked him.
“Nah, never. But that one is brand new this weekend. Some jerk spilled a huge cup of soda on the old one and fried it,” the guard explained. “Hey, you guys want the security videotape? Dumb question, right? I’ll go get it for you.”
Staal began to photograph the machine. He marked the date and location on the cards, and then put his equipment away.
“Anything else?” Gooch asked. She, too, had her camera out and was photographing the fax.
“Wait for Wilson, I guess.” Staal had noticed an old timer sitting in a bench across the corridor from the machine. Another senior was just sitting down beside him. Staal took the suspect composites from his kit and walked over to them.
He introduced himself and asked, “How long have you gentlemen been sitting here?”
“On and off all morning, Detective,” one of them answered. “I’m Joseph and that’s Fred.” Joseph wore a hearing aid on his ear, and combed his oiled white hair straight back.
“We walk a bit. Then we sit a spell,” Fred said. He was bald with thick glasses.
Staal held out the drawings. “Does this guy look familiar? He’s about thirty years old. Five-six, hundred fifty pounds, and wears dark clothing.”
Fred and Joe glanced at each other. Joe spoke first. “A chap all dressed in black with a White Sox cap was over at that machine you were looking at. He looked pretty much like how you described.”
“He thumped his fist on the thing, cursed at it.” Fred pointed at the machine.
“Remember anything else about this guy?” Staal asked.
A short pause and then, “Yeah, sure looked like he’d taken a beating,” Fred said.
“A beating?”
“That’s right, Officer. Had a black eye and bruises all over his cheek.”
Staal thanked the men and took down their full names and phone numbers. His phone buzzed.
“Staal,” Barnes said. “We just received a fax, too—just like the others. This time it’s addressed to you, right here at the detective squad room. Fraser and Hayes tracked the Channel Nine fax to a 24-Seven over on Marine drive. Drummond’s people are there now.”
“Shit, Max, can you tell where the fax that came to me is from?” Staal’s heart began to pound.
“Give me a minute to check it.”
“Sure,” Staal said.
“Jack,” Barnes paused. “I had to update IHIT. Corporal Chin is on the move and rolling out your way.”
“All right. Thanks.”
Staal used yellow caution tape to seal off the area. Jesse returned. He said there was only one camera in the area, and he had pulled the video tape that included the last two hours of film.
“Jesse, don’t let anyone touch this machine,” Staal said. “Uniform cops will be here soon and a team from the lab.”
Jesse said that he understood.
Staal nodded to Gooch and they headed for the exit and the Impala. Before Staal climbed into the vehicle, his phone rang again. It was Barnes. The fax sent to the machine at 565 originated at the farmers market across the street from the 24-Seven store on Marine Drive.
Kim’s Market sold the usual produce selection at prices cheaper than grocery stores. It also featured a coffee bar with Internet ready PCs, a copier, and a facsimile machine.
Fraser stood at the coffee bar, passed a composite drawing to the cashier, and opened his notebook. Staal nodded to Hayes and she smiled back. Drummond was dusting the machine for prints.
“You just can’t keep out of this, can you, Jack?” Wilson Drummond said with a sarcastic grin on is face.
“Guess not.”
“Kent is working the machine at the mall.”
“Did we get anything from the 24-Seven machine?”
“Ward is working it right now,” Drummond answered. “I’ll call Kevin in ten and then I’ll let you know.”
“The guy running the store next door saw our guy in black. We have the security tape,” Hayes said.
“Any cameras here?” Staal glanced around the market.
“Nope.”
“This kid,” Fraser tilted his head to the young woman at the coffee bar. “Described our guy. She said he looked just like our composite.”
“Let’s get back to the house and check out these tapes. If we have anything, maybe we can run it on the noon news.”
Corporal Donald Chin stood at the entrance to Market. Next to Chin was Staff-Sergeant Richard Pitman. Pitman was nearly sixty, although he could pass for 45. His hair was cut short, military style, and his height of six foot six dwarfed his Corporal.
“Detective Staal, Sergeant Gooch, perhaps you could have waited for team members to handle this situation.”
“Told you Staal was a fucking cowboy!” Chin said, spitting his words.
“Corporal. Direct the teams investigating these three scenes.”
Rachael caught Staal’s eye with her own, signaling that she would handle Pitman.
As IHIT members took over the scene, Staal stepped outside and waited for Gooch. He hoped that Rachael wasn’t taking any blame for his tactics. The Integrated Team was not known for a quick dispersal to crime scenes, and trace evidence would have been lost if the three fax machines were not sealed.
Michelle Dionne stepped into the coffee room where Staal, Fraser and Gina were running theories. Dionne announced that Staal and his people were to be included in the security tape viewing. Staal smiled. Rachael Gooch must have woven some diplomatic magic at the market during her chat with the Staff Sergeant in charge of IHIT.
Two VCRs and TVs were set up in the conference room. At least ten members of IHIT were already seated around the table. First, the tape from the 24-Seven began. Staal found empty seats near the rear of the roo
m. Gooch operated the controls of the video machines. The convenience store tape was snowy and jumpy.
“I think your tape is useless for a broadcast, Staal!” Corporal Chin said.
“Yeah, you’re right, but here’s our guy,” Gooch said, glaring at Chin.
“That’s him. The little prick. Maybe Dawson can clean it up a bit,” Staal said. Annette Dawson was the audio-visual expert on staff, and if she couldn’t clean up the picture, nobody could.
“Here he is again,” Gooch said. “This looks good.”
The guy in black—Damian Knight, as he wanted to be called—moved into view and began to run a fax through the mall machine. He stopped to take a quick look around the area, and then pounded his fist on the machine. Gooch re-ran the tape and paused it at the frame that best showed the suspect’s face. She held the composite up next to the screen.
“Let’s have Dawson dub this tape right now.” Pitman said. “Clean it up and burn it to compact disc.”
“Yeah, I’ll set it up,” Hayes said.
“Good, make at least a dozen copies.” Pitman stood as he spoke. “I’ll set it up with Nancy Collins at the CBC. Chin, make some calls and find out who else will run this. Let’s rock and roll, people! I want this on the noon news!”
Chapter 11
The television distracted Knight from the Internet chat room. His online conversation with three other guys about the latest Star Trek movie had lost his interest. He pushed away from his desk and glanced across the room to the TV. It was a commercial for yet another energy drink. He would have to try the new product before it went off the market.
A newsbreak came on and hinted that there was a late breaking story. He was searching for the remote when the screen filled with a copy of the facsimile he had sent to the newspaper people and the police. His face heated as he searched wildly for the remote. It had disappeared.
He leapt from his seat and stood in front of the Panasonic set searching frantically for the on-off bottom. His panic blossomed until he finally found the switch. Before he could dissolve the broadcast, though, he saw a grainy still of Damian Knight operating the machine at the 24-Seven store. The newswoman said, “More on this story at noon!”
Dead of Knight Page 9
