Authors: David Anderson
thirty-two
He thought he was safe. Even though the police hadn’t been fooled by his plan to make Levine’s murder look like a suicide, he still thought he was alright. He hadn’t left any traces, he was pretty sure of that.
He’d gotten in and out of that disgusting old prick’s house as clean as a whistle. It had been helpful that the kitchen door was unlocked. He hadn’t been counting on
that
. It was a nice bonus. And then to find him asleep on the sofa. All he’d had to do was walk up behind him and slip the rope around his fat neck and pull.
His nose wrinkled at the memory. The fat slob had pissed himself. He’d done his homework on that, too, so he knew it might happen. But still, reading about it and experiencing it were two different things.
And the weight of him! He’d nearly busted a gut getting him into the garage and hoisted up. But he’d figured it all out in advance and used the ladder. And all the many months of lifting weights, that had been the real secret.
Strong like bull
. He grinned at the well-worn phrase.
Billinger had been much easier. Asleep like that, he was a sitting – correction - lying duck. The killer grinned again. A lying duck – that was a good one.
Then he frowned. He’d left the bat behind and maybe that wasn’t such a good idea. But it was so old, he didn’t think there was any way they could trace it back to him. He shook his head. No, that would be alright.
That first kill, though - it had been such a rush, in more ways than one. He’d been so nervous, so much on edge. And then in such a hurry to get out of there. Had he made any mistakes? He didn’t think so, but….. He told himself not to worry. The police hadn’t come calling, had they? They hadn’t a clue, not even a sniff as to who he was.
He was in the clear. He’d gotten away with it. Killed the old bastard.
And
his fag lover. Disgusting creeps, both of them. The world was better off without them.
It had gone so well, been so easy. Should be just be content with what he had accomplished? There were more out there like them. He’d seen that for himself at that shitty bistro place. What was it called? Danny’s, that was it. Maybe some of them were like Billinger. Trouble waiting to happen. Maybe he should do something about that.
The killer started thinking.
thirty-three
Lori Singh was in her dressing gown when she opened the door to Drumm’s knock. Her hair was untidy and he had clearly woken her up.
“Sorry to be here so early, Lori. I woke you up. I apologize.”
“Come in.” She stepped back, let him enter and closed the door behind him. “It’s time I was getting going anyway. Isn’t it? What’s the time?”
“Just past five-thirty.”
She looked at him in disbelief. “Five-thirty. So. Make yourself some coffee.” She pointed towards the kitchen and moved towards the hallway. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Drumm busied himself opening cupboards and drawers. He found a jar of instant coffee, a mug, a spoon and the kettle on the stove. This he filled with water.
“There’s milk in the fridge if you want it.” Lori had returned quietly and was watching him from the kitchen doorway.
“Thanks.” Suddenly he felt awkward. She was still dressed in her light blue dressing gown, but she had brushed her hair.
“I shouldn’t have barged in like this, but I wanted to talk to you.” He had to raise his voice to be heard above the boiling kettle. “Want some tea?”
She shook her head. “Too early. Bring your coffee in here.” She led the way to the living room and sat in a comfortable-looking armchair. She crossed her legs, carefully arranging the dressing gown. Only her feet and ankles were showing. She was barefoot. She sat back, stretched and gave a big yawn, which she did her best to cover with her hand.
Drumm took a seat on the couch and put his mug on the coffee table in front of him. He still felt ill at ease. “This is a nice apartment, Lori. It smells new.” The furniture was a dark green, chosen to complement a pale green area rug. The space was dominated by a large print showing a mountain scene; he was pretty sure it was Banff National Park. There were plants everywhere. The overall effect was calming and peaceful.
“I’ve only been in here just over a month.”
“That’s right. I remember now.”
There was a silence which stretched out to an uncomfortable length. She was obviously waiting for him to speak. No help for it. He had to say what he had come to say.
“I wanted to thank you for what you did last night. And apologize for my actions.”
“Apologize for being sick? There’s no need.”
“I didn’t handle things well.”
She smiled. “You did fine. How much sleep did you get?”
He frowned. “I slept in your car, I think.”
She stared at him. “That was it? You didn’t go to bed?”
“Not really, no. I had way too much caffeine. The thing is, I’ve been diabetic for some time. You’re the only person who knows about it. Usually I can control it if I’m careful about what I eat and drink.”
Lori smiled. “I gather yesterday you weren’t careful.”
Drumm shook his head. “Usually I check my blood sugar level four or five times a day, and I adjust my calorie intake accordingly.” He reached into his shirt pocket and showed her his glucose meter. “But I got careless and distracted. I pretty much did everything wrong yesterday. I was under stress, didn’t eat nearly enough and then drank too much coffee. It was a bad combination.”
Lori nodded. “I see. It
was
pretty upsetting seeing Daniel Levine like that.”
“It was more than that.” He paused.
Here goes
. “I had a big fight with Emily.”
“Oh.” She stood up suddenly. “I’m going to make some tea now. No, just stay there. I’ll get you some more coffee too. Unless you’ve had enough?”
“No, one more would be good.”
She was back in a few minutes, carrying a mug of tea and his coffee, which she set down on the table in front of him. Her gown opened slightly at the top, showing a vee of golden skin. He suddenly realized that she was wearing little under the dressing gown.
“I’m sorry to hear you and Emily aren’t getting along. Want to talk about it?”
“Got a month? No, you don’t need to hear all about my problems. Let’s just say, my job gets in the way sometimes and Emily doesn’t like it. Yesterday she made that clear, again.” He paused. “I had trouble dealing with it. The rest you pretty much know.”
Lori was sitting in the chair, legs folded comfortably under her, holding the mug of tea in two hands. She was studying him carefully. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “Emily frets about you being a detective? Is that it?”
Drumm drank some of his coffee. “Partly. She doesn’t say she worries about me. But I’m sure the safety thing is part of it.” He gazed up at the ceiling.
How much to tell her?
He looked at her again. “Really, I think she wants me to give up being a cop. She says not, but that’s what the problem is. I can’t ever seem to spend enough time with her.”
“And you don’t want to give it up, I gather?”
“How could I? I love it.” He looked away, then back to her. “I couldn’t give it up, I just couldn’t. It’s like it’s what I was born to do. And if I have to choose between Emily and my job…. Bottom line, I guess I think it’s unfair of her to even ask. I can’t see any way out.”
“I see.”
Drumm stood up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to unload all my problems on you. I should get going. I just came to ask you not to say anything to anyone about what happened last night. I also wanted to apologize and make sure you were okay with things.”
Lori stood up also, carefully holding onto her mug. She shrugged and then said, “I am very okay with things, Nick, if you are. And I won’t say anything, if that’s what you want.”
Drumm looked at her; the blue, almond-shaped eyes were watching him closely. He wondered what she was thinking. Probably best not to know. A moment later she spoke again.
“Why don’t you want anyone to know you’re diabetic?”
Surprised, Drumm said, “I like my job. I don’t want to lose it.”
Lori raised her eyebrows. “You think because you’re diabetic, they’d make you quit? Really?”
Drumm was defensive. “Well, who knows? I don’t want to take a chance.”
Lori laughed. “There must be plenty of diabetics in the force. I personally know of two.” She smiled. “Three, now.”
Drumm thought about it. “Maybe you’re right.”
Lori said, “I want to see you test your blood sugar.”
“What! Why?”
“It’s a condition of my silence.” She smiled and sat down again. “Come on, show me. I’m interested, that’s all.” She took a sip of tea.
Drumm shrugged, sat down also, took out the glucose meter and went through the routine. Lori watched him curiously.
“Going to write it all down in your notebook, Lori?”
“Hah! Very funny,” she said. “5.4, that must be good, right? You look healthy.”
Drumm smiled. “Yes, 5.4 is fine. Last night, after you left my place, the reading was 2.3. Low is not good. God knows what it was when I collapsed.” He looked at his watch. “We’re late. You better get dressed. Your boss will be upset.”
Lori stood up. “I’ll have to beg forgiveness.”
Drumm stood up and moved to the door. “I appreciate all of this, Lori. Thanks for listening to me.”
Drumm left her apartment and quietly closed the door. He felt better. He was whistling softly as he entered the elevator.
thirty-four
McDonald was waiting for him when he reached his office. “Well, good morning, sunshine.” He studied Drumm carefully. “You look like shit. Did you and luscious Lori close the joint last night?”
Drumm sat down heavily. “Absolutely. Just left there, actually. That’s why I’m late.” He started rummaging around in his desk.
“Where is our lovely Indian colleague anyway?” McDonald was sipping on a coffee and gazing at him curiously.
“She’s not Indian, she’s Canadian. And she’s following some leads,” said Drumm. He pointed his finger at McDonald. “Dick, lay off her. She doesn’t need your usual treatment.”
McDonald put up his hands in protest. “I give her nothing but the utmost respect.” He finished his coffee. “Chappell wants to see you. Right away.”
Drumm looked up. “Did he say why?”
“No, but I can guess.” McDonald grinned.
“How’s it coming with the baseball bat?”
“He said to hurry.”
“So make it quick. The bat?”
McDonald shook his head. “I’ll keep digging but I’m getting nowhere. There are six stores in the city that sell bats like that. I managed to check a couple of them last night. I’m going to try the local baseball teams and see if anyone recognizes it. But I’m not hopeful.”
Drumm stood up. “It’s a long shot. That bat could have come from anywhere. Even from Louisville.” He sighed. “Time to face the music.”
Chappell was on the phone when Drumm knocked on his door. The Staff Inspector waved him to a seat. Drumm listened while his superior finished his conversation. It sounded like he was discussing this year’s budget. Why would anyone want to be a staff inspector, he wondered.
Chappell’s office was nearly twice the size of his, though. Probably his salary was too. Drumm looked at the bookshelves behind the desk, the large cherry wood desk, the comfortable couch and the nice view out his window. Maybe it was worth it. On the other hand, the Staff Inspector was wearing a suit and tie (as he always did), clothing that Drumm preferred to avoid, and Chappell had frequent wrestling matches with the media.
The Staff Inspector ended his conversation and hung up.
“You look like hell, Nick. Late night?”
Drumm wondered just exactly how bad he looked. “Yes, sir.”
Chappell eyed him. “Anything you want to tell me?”
“Ah….some dog trouble, sir. And noisy neighbours. Nothing to worry about.” It wouldn’t do to go into details of last evening’s fiasco with his superior. “Two open murder cases don’t help my sleeping either.”
“Suspects?”
“A possible businessman in his forties. He may have had a connection to Billinger.”
“Possible? May have? That doesn’t sound like much.”
“It isn’t, but we have little to go on at the moment. Mike Bailey has an alibi for Levine’s murder. And of course, up until yesterday, we were looking at Levine himself for the Billinger killing.”
Chappell stood up and went to the window. The tree branches in the park behind the building were dancing in the wind and leaves were swirling everywhere. It was still sunny but clouds were beginning to move in. Chappell turned to face Drumm.
“It’s still possible that Levine killed Billinger, isn’t it?”
“Possible, yes. But unlikely. If Levine had killed himself, then yes, I would say he was a good bet for Billinger’s murder. But the fact that someone went to so much trouble to make his murder look like a suicide tells me the same man did both. Besides, what would Levine’s motive be? All we found is that the two of them had an occasional argument. There’s no evidence of any violent quarrels and Levine didn’t stand to gain in any way. Billinger’s will left money to care for his sister if she were still living, which she is, and the rest to charities.”
Chappell sighed. “I know. Just hoping. So you’ll pursue this businessman? Who is he anyway?”
Drumm related Levine’s story about the mystery man in Danny’s.
Chappell snorted. “Geez, Louise, you haven’t got anything! He may not even exist.” He sat down again and leaned back in his chair. “I have to give the media something soon, Nick.”
Drumm stood up. “I know. We’ve got some leads to pursue. Maybe I’ll have something by the end of the day.”
Chappell put his hands behind his head. “I need Detective Dick for the rest of today. Tonight too.”
Drumm had been moving towards the door. Now he stopped and turned to face Chappell. “What? Again? You give me a detective and then take him away?”
Chappell looked uncomfortable. “I know. It’s just for the day.”
Drumm realized that the Staff Inspector was embarrassed, and this was likely the reason he had been so easy on him. He’d left it to the last minute to let Drumm know he was taking McDonald away. “What’s going on?”
“It’s private, Nick.”
Drumm closed the door, sat down and folded his arms. He stared at Chappell, waiting.
The Staff Inspector sighed and leaned forward. He turned a photograph around towards Drumm, a picture that he had seen before. It showed Chappell and his wife, Celestine, standing on a yacht with their arms around each other’s waists, smiling in the sun. “It’s about Celeste.”
Drumm was surprised. As far as he knew, Mark Chappell and his wife, Celestine, were separated. He said as much now.
“We are still separated, yes. But it was an amicable parting, as these things go. We’ve been on good terms ever since.” Chappell stood up and went to the window again. “She called me Wednesday night, upset. Some guy was following her, she said. She noticed him first at Southdale Mall; an unshaven guy in his twenties wearing a blue hoodie, staring at her. Then she saw him again later when she was getting gas. He was in a dirty white van out on the street, watching her. She said it looked like he had a camera. He saw her looking and drove off before she could get his plate number.”
Drumm pursed his lips. Celestine Chappell – was she still Chappell? – was an attractive woman. Being stalked by a young creep with a camera would be frightening for any female, but especially so for a woman in her late fifties. “Scary stuff,” he said.
“It gets worse. Later that same evening, she was undressing for bed and she looked out through a chink in the curtains and saw him standing in her backyard. That’s when she called me. She was scared and upset. Crying, almost hysterical. But embarrassed, too, you know? Didn’t want to call 9-1-1.”
“So you put Dick on it. I see.”
Chappell came over and sat on the edge of his desk. “McDonald and I go way back. I trust him. He doesn’t always give a good impression but he can be discreet. And Celeste insisted on discretion.”
Drumm stood up. “I won’t say anything. Did Dick get anywhere?”
“No. But I want him there today and tonight as security. After that we’ll see.”
Drumm moved to the door, and then turned around. “You could have asked me. I would have been glad to help.”
“With two murders to solve? And Celeste’s problem is hardly a violent crime. Yet.” He smiled grimly. “Besides, with you and Emily doing so well, I wouldn’t want to do anything to interfere. You already said you have a bit of a long-distance relationship. Send Dick in, will you?”
Drumm made a little wave as acknowledgment and left the office. He and Emily doing so well? Staff Inspector Chappell was out of the loop.