Authors: David Anderson
Forrest flushed suddenly. “Don’t call me that!”
“You
are
ignorant, Johnnie. You think that gay men are pedophiles. Maybe one percent of them are, if that. Pedophiles are heterosexual, almost always – didn’t you know that? Arthur Billinger wasn’t a pedophile, he was gay. He wasn’t interested in you, he liked men.” Drumm stared at Forrest, shaking his head. “You’re fucking unbelievable.”
Forrest glared at him. “He touched me! He was coming on to me!”
“He touched you on the shoulder. Big fucking deal. It’s what teachers do. I used to do it myself. Most normal thing in the world, to lean over a student from behind and put my hand on a shoulder.”
Forrest looked surprised. “You were a teacher?”
“Good thing I didn’t have
you
in my class. You might have tried to kill me too.”
Forrest glared at him again. “I didn’t kill him! I told you!”
Drumm leaned back in his chair. “Johnnie, let me explain something to you. When you were standing outside Arthur Billinger’s house last Monday night, waiting for him to go to bed, you left a fine impression of your sneaker in the dirt.” He pointed at Forrest’s feet which were encased in soft prison shoes. “It was a size 10.”
The door opened and Lori came in. She placed a folder on the table and quietly exited the interview room again.
Drumm said, “What good timing! You’d almost think she knew what we were talking about.” He opened the folder and glanced at the paperwork inside. “This lab report confirms that the shoe you were wearing when we arrested you matches the cast we made of the print in Billinger’s backyard. That’s called physical evidence. We know also that Arthur Billinger was killed by a short man.” He looked directly at Forrest. “You’re just the right height, Johnnie.”
Forrest said nothing; he was slumping in his seat.
“This other report states that the hair we found in Daniel Levine’s living room matches yours. You had your recycling box out on the street; it was full of cans with your DNA on them. Right out there in public for us to take. No warrant necessary. DNA is a wonderful thing, isn’t it?”
Outside the interview room, Sue Oliver turned to Lori Singh. “You found one of Forrest’s hairs in Levine’s house?”
Lori smiled. “No.”
Chappell glanced at her but didn’t say anything.
In the room Drumm went on. “Do you know what DNA exclusion is, Johnnie? No? It’s when we take samples at a crime scene and rule out the DNA that should be there. What’s left is what shouldn’t be there. Levine’s house was full of his DNA and Arthur Billinger’s. Just as it should be, since they were lovers. But yours now, what was
it
doing there? You didn’t know either of them, so you said; then why was your DNA found in Levine’s home?”
Forrest said nothing; he just stared at the table.
Drumm went on, “More physical evidence, Johnnie. That little hair we found ties you to Levine’s murder. The shoeprint ties you to Billinger’s murder. So we have you placed at two murder scenes, when you said you didn’t know either man.” He paused. “Would you like to change your story a little bit, maybe?”
Forrest said nothing. He just stared at the table.
Drumm went on. “What I don’t understand is, why now? Why did you decide to kill Billinger now, after all these years?”
Forrest said dully, “It was because of Danny’s.”
“What do you mean?” Drumm asked.
“I was having a drink there one night. I didn’t know it was a gay hangout then. I must have been blind.” Forrest’s eyes were focused on the wall over Drumm’s shoulder. “This faggot came over to my booth. He sat down beside me and started talking. Next thing I know, he had his hand on my leg. I grabbed his fingers and did my best to break them.” Forrest smiled. “I’m pretty sure I snapped one of them at least before he could escape. He got out of there in a hurry anyway.” Forrest frowned, remembering. “Then I saw them. Billinger came in with that fat prick, Levine. They sat down at a table close to me. I didn’t know who Levine was, of course, but I recognized Billinger alright. He didn’t know me, I was sure; I was in the corner and it was dark, so I could see them without being noticed.”
“And what did you see?”
“What? Oh, I could tell they were
both
gay. The way they were looking into each other’s eyes, for one thing. And it just brought it all back. What he did to me at school, the way he made me feel. To see him there, after having that faggot grope me, it was just too much. That was when I started to think I wanted to get back at him. The more I thought about what he did to me, the more I wanted to kill him. I had pretty much forgotten about that public school stuff. But having that faggot touch my leg brought it all back. Seeing Billinger there with that fatty disgusted me. It still disgusts me. People like those two don’t deserve to live.”
“So you appointed yourself executioner?”
Forrest looked at him. “Who better than me?”
“You drove over to his house?”
“No, I walked over. It was safer that way.”
“And you waited outside for him to go to bed?”
Forrest nodded. “I saw his bedroom light go off and waited another half hour or so. Then I broke a window to get in. I was worried he might wake up but he didn’t hear anything. When I got into his room, I could see why. He had a fan on.”
“Why wait for him to go to sleep? Why not just go in and kill him? Or break into his home and wait for him?”
Forrest stared at him. “Well, because of the noise he might make. I wasn’t going to give him a chance to call for help.”
“Why didn’t you wake him up? So you could gloat?”
Forrest grinned. “I thought about it! But I liked the idea of hitting him in his sleep. And he looked like he was out cold anyway.”
“He’d taken a sedative.” Drumm’s voice was carefully neutral.
“Really? No wonder he was so sound asleep. Made it easy.”
“How could you see what you were doing?”
Forrest grinned. “I had a flashlight. I had it rigged to my head like a miner’s light so my hands were free. Worked great.”
“Go on. The fan was on when you went in…”
“Yeah. I turned it off. Then I went over to the side of the bed.” He looked at Drumm. “You won’t believe this, I guess, but I didn’t know whether or not I could go through with it. I stood there looking down at him, lying there so helpless. He didn’t even know I was there. And I stood there, wondering what the fuck I was doing. But then I remembered him touching me and I knew I had to kill him. So I hit him.” Forrest shrugged. “It felt good. So I hit him again quickly. And again. He never woke up.”
“You hit him with…?”
Forrest looked at him oddly. “The bat, of course.”
Outside the room, Lori looked at the others. “The bat as the murder weapon was never released to the press. He’s definitely toast now.”
Drumm continued, in a cold, flat voice, “The Coroner said there may have been thirty blows, Johnnie. Overkill, we call that.”
Forrest shrugged again. “Could be. I don’t really remember. I got into a bit of a frenzy there, I know. It’s all a blur now. But I did hit him a lot, I know that.” He said this with satisfaction.
“Why the bat?”
“Why not? I used to play baseball. And I don’t own a gun.”
“Why did you leave it behind?”
“Well, it was a mess, wasn’t it? I knew I could never clean it all off. And you’d never be able to trace it to me. I’ve had it a long time.”
Drumm was thoughtful. “You were really hitting your stepfather, weren’t you?”
Forrest was startled. “My stepfather?” Then he laughed. “Maybe. Yeah, maybe I was.”
Drumm asked, “What about Levine? Why did you kill him?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Kill two birds with one stone. I thought maybe the police would think he’d committed suicide because he was sorry he killed his friend.”
“You broke into his house too?”
“I didn’t have to. He left the back door unlocked. Stupid asshole made it easy for me.”
“Did he struggle?”
Forrest laughed. “Only when he woke up and felt the cord around his neck. He was asleep on his couch. It couldn’t have been easier.” Forrest frowned. “Except that he pissed himself.”
“It must have been difficult to hoist him up in the garage. Levine was a big man.”
“It was like trying to lift one of the Argos’ defensive linemen! But I can bench press three hundred pounds so I managed.”
Drumm went on. “And Kinsky?”
“He was another fag at Danny’s. I could see him eyeballing me. If I’d given him half a chance, he would have been all over me.”
“So…?”
“So I waited outside for him to come out and then I followed him down an alley. There was no one around. It was easy.”
“You used another bat?”
Forrest was getting his swagger back, Drumm could see. “Nah, fists and boots. He went down easy and then it was soccer time. I made sure to get him in the balls.”
Drumm said, “You kicked him in the groin?”
Forrest grinned. “Man, I kicked him everywhere. He stopped moving after a bit.”
Drumm stood up. “Tell me, before I arrest you on three counts of first degree murder, would you have stopped with Kinsky? Or would there have been more?”
Forrest looked calmly at him. “There are a lot of fags in the world.”
seventy-three
“Well done, Nick. That was just what we needed.” Chappell put one hand on Drumm’s shoulder.
“Thank you, Staff. He played along nicely, didn’t he?”
They were standing outside the interview room. The other three detectives had smiles on their faces.
“You’re a lying bugger, Drumm,” said Morgan.
“Yes, I am.” Drumm smiled too.
“The shoeprint match is real, though,” said Lori.
“Would it have been enough?” asked Oliver.
“It would have been tricky,” said Chappell. “We’ve won cases on less. And lost them too. Thankfully we won’t have to find out. A confession trumps all.”
“He didn’t have a lawyer present,” said Morgan. “That might make the confession suspect.”
“No, it won’t,” said Lori. “It’s all on tape and I advised him twice. It’ll be fine.”
“Just in case, get him to sign a statement right away.” Chappell was walking back to his office. “We don’t want him changing his mind.”
“We’ll toss his place, too, and see what else we can find,” said Oliver. “We’ll check out every last little thing about this scumbag.”
Back in the interview room, Forrest was writing out a statement while Drumm and Singh watched. As he always did, Drumm wondered why, in this era of technological marvels, the York Police Services still preferred to get statements in the accused’s own writing. It was so slow and cumbersome. It would be much faster to have Forrest just dictate his confession into a tape recorder.
Lori spoke up. “You know what I’m wondering?” She was gazing at Forrest. “It was so drastic what you did. If you thought Billinger was a pedophile, why didn’t you just report him to the police? If you’d been right, they would have talked to some of the other kids and maybe got a conviction.”
Forrest stopped writing and looked up. “Maybe?”
“Well, after all, look at all these Catholic priests who are doing prison time for molesting boys. Decades ago, some of them.”
Forrest stared at her. “
Maybe
he would have been convicted. And maybe not. If I could have got the police interested, and that’s a big ‘if’, it would have taken them months, probably years, to file charges. And then how long for the court case? This is Canada. He wouldn’t have come to trial for another couple of years.” He sneered. “I didn’t want to wait that long for justice.”
Drumm said, “Keep writing.”
“Justice,” said Lori. She and Drumm were in his office, having finished with Forrest. “Justice means so many different things to so many people.”
“Justice with a baseball bat, in this case,” said Drumm. “He liberally took it into his own hands.”
Lori smiled briefly. “Literally, you mean. And that wasn’t justice that was doled out to Daniel Levine and Olaf Kinsky. That was cold-blooded, homophobic murder.”
“It was all of that,” Drumm agreed.
“That is one seriously twisted man,” said Lori. “He was robbed of his childhood by a predator, and then became one himself.” She thought for a few seconds. “Do you think he’ll be ruled insane? Not legally responsible for his actions?”
Drumm shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe. That’s up to the lawyers. Our job’s done, and that’s all I care about right now.”
His cell phone rang.
“Nick?” It was Sue Oliver. “We thought you’d want to know. We’ve had a quick look at Forrest’s computer. I’m no techno geek but I know how to look at the browsing history. Forrest visited websites on human anatomy, specifically about the human head. Stuff like fractured skulls, head trauma. Also, he visited websites about hanging victims. As well as tons of porn sites.”
“Thanks, Susie. Every bit of confirmation helps, doesn’t it? You’ll keep looking?”
“Sure.” Oliver disconnected.
Drumm looked at his watch. “Lori, it’s already Tuesday. I’m heading home for a few hours rest. But first, let’s get a drink to celebrate.”
Lori smiled. “Yes, sir.”
Danny’s wasn’t crowded when they arrived; they were able to get a couple of seats at the bar where they were smilingly served by Dean Barber.
“Celebrating?” asked the bartender.
Drumm smiled. “You could say that.”
Barber raised his eyebrows. “You got the guy then?”
Lori said, “We did indeed, Dean. You’ll see it on the news tomorrow.”
The bartender moved away to serve another customer and Drumm raised his glass of champagne.
“Here’s to you, Lori.”
“No, no,” she protested. “Here’s to Dick.”
“You’re right. Here’s to Dick.”
They clinked glasses and sipped.
“I wish he was here to celebrate with us,” said Drumm. “After all, he helped in a big way.”
“I guess,” said Lori. “Yes, he did. I didn’t mean that. But he’d be calling me ‘love’ and being obnoxious and wanting to drink Guinness instead of champagne.”
Drumm laughed. “You’re right, he would.” He looked at his glass. “This Canadian bubbly isn’t bad, is it?”
Lori wrinkled her nose. “If you like champagne,” she said. “I prefer beer.”
“Me too.” Drumm drained his glass and stood up. “I’ve got to get going. See you tomorrow.”
Lori raised her glass. “You will indeed. I’m just going to stay a bit longer and chat with Mr. Barber here.”
Drumm looked at the bartender and then back at Lori. “Alright, then.” He smiled to himself as he left the bistro.
Well, well,
he thought.