An Indecent Death (10 page)

“I repeat, I can’t say I really noticed. I have too much to do around here to pay attention to what the teachers are wearing.” He paused, looked at his watch and then asked Drumm, “Are we almost done here? I have a bunch of stuff to get to.”

Drumm said, “Almost, Mr. Deans. Can you account for your movements Friday after 3:30 p.m.?”

“Friday? Well, I left here about four, I think. I had some shopping to do. I made myself a nice dinner and watched a movie.”

Singh asked, “Can anyone verify that, Mr. Deans?”

Deans stared at her. “About the shopping, yes, I think so. The rest, no. I live alone.” He waited, then said, “Am I a suspect then?”

Drumm ignored this, then said, “One last question, Mr. Deans. Did you at any time have sex with Sarah Noonan?”

“Of course, I didn’t!” Bill Deans’ face was quite red by now. “I must go.” And he got up and left the room.

Drumm got up and closed the door. “What do you think, Lori?”

“Oh, I’d say they did it,” Lori said cheerfully. “Wouldn’t you? And that bit about not noticing what she was wearing: that was crap, I’d say.”

Drumm smiled. “A bit hard to believe. Yes, I’d say our Mr. Deans is a liar alright.” He paused. “Let’s get some of the Bitchin’ Crew in here.”

Muriel Atkinson confirmed their suspicions. “He said what?” She had a look of disbelief on her face.

Drumm repeated, “Mr. Deans told us that he didn’t notice what Sarah wore to school. And that he knew her only as well as the other staff.”

Muriel Atkinson snorted. She was an older woman, likely in her mid-fifties, with a severe-looking face. “Well, who am I to contradict my vice-principal?” she said. She adjusted her glasses and sat forward on her chair. “On the other hand, you need to know. Bill watched every move she made. And she knew it. And loved it. And I can tell you for a fact that he knew her a lot better than he knew me.”

Drumm was watching Mrs. Atkinson as she spoke. Her mouth got a pinched look to it as she spoke, and her nostrils flared. It was apparent that she was not fond of Bill Deans. “Go on,” he said.

“He and Sarah were an item. Everybody knew that. You could tell just by looking at him. And there was a story about them having sex here at school. I’ve been around long enough to know that when that many people are repeating something, it’s most likely true.”

Drumm asked, “You’re a special education teacher here, aren’t you, Mrs. Atkinson?”

“I am. For twenty-nine years.”

“And we’ve been told you didn’t like Sarah Noonan. That you called her a slut, in fact. Is that right?”

“Who told you that?” Mrs. Atkinson sat up straight, then relaxed. “Doesn’t matter. She
was
a slut, and yes, I said it once. She dressed like a slut, and from what I’ve heard, she acted like one too. I’m not the only one who felt that way, either.”

Drumm said, “Back to Mr. Deans. You think he and Sarah had a sexual relationship, then?”

“Of course he did. Everyone knew it. And if he says differently, he’s lying. Not that that would be a first.”

Lori said, “You don’t like Bill Deans, Mrs. Atkinson?”

“Can’t stand him,” she said cheerfully. “He’s all show. He pretends to do the job but he hasn’t got a spine.”

Curious, Drumm asked, “Do you think he killed her then?”

Mrs. Atkinson said, “I wouldn’t really know. That’s your job, isn’t it? But it wouldn’t surprise me at all.”

“One more thing, Mrs. Atkinson,” Drumm said. “What were you doing Friday night?”

Muriel Atkinson stood up. “I was out with my husband. We were in the city, having dinner and attending the symphony. We didn’t get back until after midnight.” She looked at Drumm, then Lori Singh. “I didn’t like Sarah, but I certainly didn’t kill her.”

Back in Drumm’s office the afternoon meeting had just begun. Mark Chappell knocked on the door and immediately entered. He nodded curtly to Wesson and Singh and then addressed Drumm. “I need a progress report, Nick. What have you got for me?”

“Well, we have lots of suspects, sir. Seems like almost everyone at Elmdale Elementary was involved with Sarah Noonan in one way or another. Most of them had motive and opportunity. Right now the chief person of interest is her husband.” Drumm outlined for Chappell what they knew of Terry Noonan, his past and his relationship with his wife.

“What about lab results? What are they telling you?”

“They haven’t come in yet, sir. Must be a backlog. As usual.”

Chappell was not impressed. “It’s been four days since the body was found, five or six since she was killed. I was expecting more progress than this, Nick. I’m getting a lot of enquiries from the media about it. They want answers. I want answers. Get them to me. I want a full report every afternoon, starting tomorrow.” And the Staff Inspector turned on his heel and left the room.

Drumm grinned ruefully at Wesson and Singh. “Can’t blame him, I guess. He’s probably getting heat from above, so he passes it on to me. Maybe I should do the same to you two.” He looked over at Karl. “I want results, Karl, and I want them now! Actually, I’ll settle for an account of your day.” Karl had been down in Toronto all day checking into Hobbes Transport and interviewing Jack Melanson.

Karl said. “Right, first of all, Hobbes Transport. No red flags there, nothing out of the ordinary. It’s a limited company, incorporated in 1980, employs around forty people. Its business is mainly moving auto parts, but they do a bit of everything.”

Drumm nodded. “Go on.”

“I had some trouble locating Jack Melanson. He’s not in the trucking business anymore. He’s a driver for a private courier company. Wynn’s Delivery Services, it’s called. He was reluctant to talk at first but I persuaded him.” Karl smiled. “He didn’t want to come all the way up here. Anyway, he confirmed that he had witnessed Douglas Madsen and Sarah Noonan having sexual intercourse in the back of a truck cab. He couldn’t remember exactly when – a few months ago was the best he could do – but he did remember that she was on top, with her skirt up. He – Melanson that is – had gone into the back of another cab to pick something up and caught them at it. They didn’t notice him, he says.”

Drumm said, “He was sure it was her? And she was on top? It was no rape then.”

“He was sure. No rape, Nick. His exact words were, ‘She was bouncing up and down on him like a bobblehead doll.’” Wesson smiled at the memory.

Drumm frowned. “OK, so we have another sexual partner for Sarah Noonan. How many does that make?” Drumm was counting on his fingers. “One, Jack Melanson, two, Kevin Callaghan, three, probably, Bill Deans, four, maybe, Terry Noonan? And who knows who else.”

Drumm proceeded to fill Wesson in on the results of the day’s interviews. There had been a lot of people in and out of Room 223. “Are we any closer to figuring out who killed her?”

Lori answered. “Well, we don’t know where, we don’t know why and we don’t know who. We are pretty sure of what and when. So, we’re definitely closer than Sunday morning, but we don’t know most of the important stuff.”

Karl said, “As for who, you are thinking…?”.

Drumm said, “Noonan, obviously: he had the time and the motive. Greg Parent – he definitely had a reason to be angry with her. Pierre Pepin – I think it’s pretty clear he knows more about this than he’s saying. Same goes for James Shaughnessy. Donald Musjari: he has no alibi and a big chip on his shoulder. Bill Deans can’t be ruled out. He could have killed her out of jealousy. Terry Callaghan doesn’t seem likely because of his nature but he’s admitted to having sex with her. And the same goes for Douglas Madsen.” Drumm sighed. “It’s a hell of a list, isn’t it?”

“We have to include the Bitchin’ Crew also,” said Karl. “And Lynnette Cranston.” He looked sideways at Lori Singh as he said this.

Drumm leaned back in his chair and put his fingertips together. “Right, here’s what we know of our victim’s movements last Friday. She taught all day at school, a perfectly normal day in seventh grade. And then we think she drove home, made herself some dinner and got dressed to go out. And then?” Plenty of witnesses had seen Sarah Noonan leave the school building about 3:45 p.m., get into her car and drive away. But after that her movements were just a guess.

“And then she let someone into her apartment,” said Karl. “Who killed her. We think.”

“And that’s the trouble, isn’t it?” said Lori. “It’s all what we think, not what we know. We need a break in this case, because we are getting nowhere.”

The ball hit the girl right in the face and she went down on the gym floor, crying. The teacher blew his whistle and the game of dodgeball came to a stop. The girls’ friends rushed to console her while the teacher, whom Drumm recognized as Bruce Stevens, strolled over much more calmly, to see how serious the situation was. Satisfying himself that there was no crisis, Stevens helped the girl to a bench, then blew his whistle again and the game continued. They were using a nerf soccer ball, and Drumm knew, as clearly Mr. Stevens did too, that it was pretty much impossible to cause any serious damage with that kind of ball.

Sure enough, a minute or so later, the girl rejoined the game, seemingly unhurt. Drumm had enjoyed many a game of dodgeball in his time as a teacher. It was a good game to play when you were too lazy or tired to teach a lesson, or the kids needed to blow off some steam, or if you had some unexpected gym time to fill. This was the sixth grade, and Drumm figured that the teacher was allowing his class to use up some excess energy, especially the boys. Almost every student loved dodgeball but the boys got into it especially. What young man wouldn’t love to hit the girls or his friends with a missile? Mr. Stevens was using the simplest version of the game. Two teams, if you’re hit, go sit on the bench, last kid standing, his team wins. There were many different versions, of course: ways to escape the bench, or jail, as many teachers called it, more than one ball, shields to hide behind. This was the simple game: fun and good exercise, no thinking involved.

Drumm and Wesson had been interviewing the rest of the staff at Elmdale. Bruce Stevens had been first up that morning. As much as anyone could say at this stage of the investigation, Stevens was not a suspect. He was an older man, and quite clearly gay. Perhaps it wasn’t obvious to the students but Wesson and Drumm had no difficulty telling. Not that a gay man couldn’t have killed Sarah Noonan, but he wasn’t the type. He hadn’t been interested in her at all, barely knew her, in fact, and this had been confirmed by numerous other staff. In fact, none of the teachers and educational assistants they had talked to this morning was of interest to them in the murder investigation, including the other males on staff. They either didn’t know the victim well at all or had airtight alibis.

Aside from eliminating possible suspects, the morning had been a complete waste of time. But that’s what a murder investigation was: plenty of time spent fruitlessly questioning people, chasing down dead-ends, trying to catch a break. This case was no different. Why was Sarah Noonan killed? Where was she killed? What was she killed with? They didn’t know any of these things for sure and Drumm was getting a little frustrated with their lack of progress. He had gone home the night before and brooded. After calling Emily and setting up a lunch date for the next day, he and Will had taken a long walk, while he thought about all the suspects in the case. Emily kept coming to mind, so that he was alternating between Donald Musjari’s sullen face and memories of lunch with Emily. Frustrating, and he knew that he was at that stage of the investigation where he needed something to happen if they were going to move forward.

At times like this, the stress often caused his blood sugar to fluctuate wildly. Experience had taught him to be careful with what he ate, to monitor his blood sugar several times a day and take his opportunities to relax and decompress during his work day. Just now he had snuck into the men’s bathroom and used his meter; his reading was 7.3, which was at the warning level, so he would have to be careful. And watching the grade sixes fool around was a pleasant break from his interviewing chores. Drumm glanced at his watch and he knew it was time to get a move on.

Interviewing employees of a nightclub in the morning was like trying to find a taxi in the rain, Lori Singh thought. What were the chances of even finding the places open? She wasn’t sure why Drumm had given her this job this morning. Surely it made more sense for her to do it in the afternoon or evening. So once again she had been given the assignment that was least likely to produce results. Still, she had given it her best effort, attempting to find out if anyone recognized Sarah Noonan and tell her anything at all about the victim. Surprisingly, she had found two of the five businesses open, but with only a bare minimum of staff.

Unfortunately she had been unable to learn anything of importance. At one club, no one had recognized Sarah’s photo. At the other, the manager thought the victim looked familiar but was unable to say more than that. Lori was going to have to go back to both of these places in the evening, as well as the other three, in hopes that someone could tell them something of interest. Had Sarah met someone at one of these places and picked him up? There were more questions than answers at this point.

Lori sat in her Prius, enjoying a cup of tea. The car was a gift to herself, an extravagance she felt she deserved. Driving it made her feel like she was doing her part for the environment. It didn’t hurt that she saved so much on gasoline either. On her salary it was really more than she could afford but it gave her a lot of pleasure, and that was the point of money, wasn’t it? Her phone warbled, the tone indicating it was Drumm.

“Lori? How’s it going?”

“Not so good. Most of the places weren’t open, those that were, knew almost nothing. I’m going to have to go back.”

“OK, about what we expected, then. I’ll need you to come back to the office. The lab results have come in.”

“About time! Anything significant?”

“You could say that. She had GHB in her system.” Drumm sounded almost happy.

“GHB? The date rape drug?”

“The very one. Get here as soon as you can.”

“I’m on my way.” Lori ended the call, drained her tea and headed towards the office.
 

“GHB, as you probably know, stands for Gamma-Hydroxybutyric acid. Also known as 4-hydroxybutanoic acid.” Drumm read from the lab report. He looked up at Singh and Wesson. He grinned. “No wonder people shorten it to GHB. That’s quite a mouthful. Sarah Noonan had it in her urine. Which is significant in all sorts of ways. She could have taken it herself as a stimulant. As you likely know, it’s thought to be an aphrodisiac and is often used at a club to ‘enhance the experience’. That’s if it’s taken in small doses.”

Lori Singh said, “A roofie.”

“Yup. And often slipped into a woman’s drink, so that she passes out and gets raped for her troubles. Or roofied, as you so eminently put it. In larger quantities and when mixed with alcohol, GHB acts like a sedative and has motor-impairing and amnesiac qualities.” Drumm was reading again. “With the amount detected in our victim’s urine, it seems likely that she was given the drug without her knowledge.”

“Motor-impairing and amnesiac qualities?” Lori said. “It’s just a fancy way of saying a woman would black out and not remember anything. ” Lori frowned, focusing on what Drumm was telling them, and trying to overlook that she had spoken “eminently” and not “eloquently.” Following Drumm’s explanations was difficult sometimes.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“And they usually don’t taste it in their drink,” said Wesson.

“No, often not. It does have a salty flavour but it’s usually undetectable when dissolved in a soft drink or liquor or beer. It’s invisible when it’s in water and is odourless. As you know. So the victim is unaware that her drink has been spiked.” Drumm put the report down and looked at the other two detectives. “The other significant thing is that it is difficult to detect GHB in urine after even a day, so the fact that the lab found it indicates that she ingested it late Friday evening or early Saturday, and was killed shortly afterwards. Which is consistent with the timeline we already had.”

Karl said, “So she was given GHB in her apartment Friday evening. That seems most likely, doesn’t it? We haven’t been able to find any indication that she went out Friday night. So someone came to her place and they had a drink; hers was spiked, she passed out and was then raped.”

Lori objected, “But there was no indication of sexual assault, the Coroner said.”

“Just that there was no indication of violence, Lori, remember. She could have had sex, had a shower and washed, or the killer could have cleaned her up.” Drumm sat back, thinking. “She had white wine in her stomach and we found a wineglass in the drying rack in her kitchen. So maybe she and her killer each had a glass of wine, he slipped the GHB into her glass and she passed out. He raped her, cleaned her up and he took the bottle with him when he left.”

Wesson asked, “But why kill her then?”

“Yes, why go to the trouble of drugging her if you planned to kill her anyway?” Lori asked. “I mean, why not just rape her and strangle her?”