Authors: David Anderson
Hillsdale Park wasn’t as busy as he feared it might be when he rolled up in his car a little while later. Drumm had spoiled himself the year before and purchased a convertible Limited Edition Mazda Miata MX-5. Ice-blue in colour, it turned heads wherever he went. It gave him a great deal of pleasure, and he was looking forward to when it was warm enough to put the top down. He knew that some people felt that it was a woman’s car but Drumm never worried about that. It was right for him and he knew it the first time he got behind the wheel and took it for a spin. He loved the way it handled and the way it looked, much better than one of those larger, more powerful sports cars. He drove it back to the dealership and bought it, then and there.
Getting out, he could see that there were no gawkers or other hangers-on at the park. The parking lot only held a few private cars plus the usual assortment of emergency vehicles. There was no sign of the media, thank goodness, although that wouldn’t last, of course. The early hour was helping keep traffic down but he knew the beautiful sunshine would soon bring hordes of people. As he was thinking this, a blue van came up the driveway; he could see through the windows a small, white dog that was yapping furiously.
Drumm gestured to the driver to stop and showed his badge to the female driver when she rolled down her window. “Police business, ma’am. Please turn around immediately. You’ll have to walk your dog somewhere else today.” When the woman made as if she was about to ask a question, Drumm gave her his most intimidating look and she changed her mind. She turned the van around hurriedly as the annoying dog continued to bark shrilly. As he watched the woman depart, Drumm wondered again what people saw in those little ankle-biter dogs.
Drumm walked over onto a gravel pathway where a tall, muscular man was talking to an older couple. “Morning, Karl. A word with you, please?”
Wesson spoke briefly to the couple and then accompanied Drumm to the office building. Not yet open for the season, it was locked up tight and the lift gate was down and locked into position. The roads within the park were still closed to vehicular traffic, but cyclists, joggers and walkers were welcome to enjoy the park facilities.
“What can you tell me, Karl?”
“Morning, Nick. Well, the body is over that way, a ten minute walk or so along that trail. It’s just off the path…” Karl consulted his notebook. “Blue Heron Trail, it’s called. That couple I was just talking to found the body an hour or so ago. Or rather, their dog did. It was off lead and I guess it went off the path, smelled something and started pawing at the ground. They stopped it before it got very far, but they could see a hand sticking up. They said they left everything the way it was and came back here. Used their cell phone, which was in the car – that silver Cadillac there – and called 9-1-1.”
Drumm looked over at the couple, standing on the trail. “Where’s the dog? And what have you done so far?”
Karl ran his hand over his receding hairline. Thirty-eight years old, and Wesson was going bald already, Drumm thought. Thank God for his own thick, brown hair, even if there was a bit of grey here and there.
“The dog is in their car. I only just beat you here, so I haven’t done much. I’d just started questioning the Jacksons –that’s their names, Norman and Patricia Jackson, both aged 72 – and we’ve got Lori Singh over at the scene.”
“Right, okay then, Karl. Let’s get one of the uniforms to go down the entrance driveway and block it off. We need to restrict access immediately. How about the Coroner?”
“She’s on her way. Won’t be too much longer, I don’t think.”
Drumm thought for a minute, then waved at the parking lot. “We’d best start running down these license plates, Karl. And have the other uniforms start going over this area. We’ll need more people for searching. And we’ll need to see if anybody saw anything at all, although way out here, it’s not likely. There must be a couple of people out in the park somewhere, judging by those cars there. And we’ll have to find out if there are other ways to get in, like say a jogger or cyclist could use. Find out, and make sure that any other means of access are closed off too. We also need to question anyone who has been in the park in the past couple of hours.”
Wesson was nodding. “No problem. I’ll get right on it.” Phone in hand, he started moving towards one of the uniformed officers but Drumm checked him.
“Also, Karl, we need a full list of all MPs over the past… let’s say three months. That’s probably going back too far, but let’s just be on the safe side. The victim could have been kidnapped a while ago and held, then killed and dumped just recently. That’s probably not what happened here, though. Staff said a teacher was reported missing yesterday. From Elmdale Elementary. Are you familiar with that peculiar educational establishment?”
Karl was startled for a second, then realized that this was one of Drumm’s word mix-ups, ‘peculiar’ instead of ‘particular’; he was renowned for them in the force. Aloud, he said, “Elmdale? Newer school, over by the mall? Not an elm in sight.”
“That’s the one. What about this old couple – the Jacksons, you said? Do they know anything?”
Karl ran his hand over his hair again. “I don’t think so. They just happened to be at the wrong place at the right time. But I’ll find out for sure.”
“When the troops start arriving, Karl, get a grid search underway as soon as you can. The fisties will be here soon, I take it?” The Forensic Investigation Services Team, or as they were familiarly known, the fisties, were always called out to a suspicious death.
“Any minute, I expect,” replied Karl.
“Right, then, I’ll get over now to see Detective Singh, and leave things here in your capable hands. Over that way, you said?”
Detective Lori Singh stood on the gravel path that was Blue Heron Trail, watching Drumm approaching, carefully inspecting the ground. The trail meandered from the parking lot taking numerous twists and turns, so that Drumm had only come into view in the last few seconds. The path cut through deciduous woods, mostly birch and maple, which were almost fully-leafed at this point in the spring. At this hour of the morning, it was cool and mostly shady, the sun having difficulty getting through the green canopy above. There were few insects about.
Lori thought, as she had before, what a good-looking man Drumm was. About six feet one, maybe one hundred and eighty pounds, Detective Sergeant Nicholas Drumm carried his forty-eight years well. He was in good shape, maybe a few extra pounds on his stomach, but still someone she would enjoy seeing in a swimsuit. Not that she ever had; they didn’t have that kind of relationship. She liked his face too, which was somewhat square but still appealing, and the touch of grey just starting to show in the brown hair at his temples. Some people found him intimidating but she had never felt like that. She enjoyed his somewhat offbeat sense of humour, and his casual manner with his colleagues. He was professional, though, and he got good results. Casual wasn’t quite the right word, she reflected. It was a studied casualness which he could set aside quickly when the situation warranted it. She had been taken to task a number of times by him, but never when she hadn’t deserved it.
Drumm looked up from his careful inspection of the path when he was a few feet from her. “Detective Singh, how are you this beautiful Sunday morning?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “What have we got here, then?”
“The body’s right over there, Nick. I had a good look, but I haven’t touched anything. It looks like a dump scene, although it’s hard to tell for sure. But there’s no sign of a struggle, no blood anywhere and nothing to indicate that she was killed here.”
Lori Singh was absently playing with her earring while she glanced periodically at her notebook. The page she was looking at was filled with neat, small handwriting.
She went on, “The corpse is female, for sure, looking at the hand. No rings on it, but some red nail polish. Not much decomp, so she was probably buried pretty recently, although it’s hard to tell with such a small amount of flesh showing. Of course, the Coroner will tell us for sure.”
“Did the dog do any damage?” Drumm asked.
“I don’t think so. I couldn’t see any. The ground’s disturbed a bit, that’s all. Whoever buried her must have been in a hurry – she’s not deep. It’s a careless job, for sure. If he’d taken his time and gotten her deeper, she wouldn’t have been discovered for some time – maybe never – in a place like this. As it is, she couldn’t have been there long at all.”
Drumm listened carefully to Lori Singh. They had worked together a couple of times before and he found her capable, efficient and keen to learn. She was attractive, maybe thirty years old with almond-shaped eyes, honey-coloured skin and dark shoulder-length hair which today, like most days, was put up in a bun. She was dressed in dark slacks, sweater and sensible shoes.
“Right then, Lori, let’s have a look.” The two of them moved off the trail and approached the yellow crime scene tape which Singh had put up around several trees. There was a clearing behind the tape, roughly twenty feet square. Stopping at the makeshift barrier, Drumm looked carefully at the ground beyond, then lifted the tape and moved under and closer, followed by the other detective. It was as she had said. It was mostly leaves and dead branches with some unknown plants just beginning to shoot up and a few wildflowers in the back part of the clearing. There was some loose earth scattered around and in that area, sticking out of the debris and disturbed soil, was a hand. The grimy fingers were curled up, as if about to cup something. Even from a few feet away it was possible to tell that it belonged to a female.
Noise behind them signaled the approach of new arrivals. Turning, Drumm saw that it was the Coroner and behind her, the Forensic Investigation Services Team, just rounding the final bend of the path.
Drumm waited for them to come up. “Sigrid, welcome. I hope we didn’t take you away from anything.”
Sigrid Brandt had been the Coroner for as long as Drumm had been in Violent Crimes. He suspected she was in her fifties, because of the lines on her face, the fatigue around her eyes and the iron-grey streaks in her hair. She was a no-nonsense woman who knew her business, and Drumm knew better than to step on her toes or get in her way.
“Just having my morning coffee and reading the Sunday paper, Nicholas. I was hoping to get out on the course later, but that will have to wait now.” An avid golfer, Brandt played as often as she could. “When was the body found?”
Drumm glanced at his watch. “About ninety minutes ago now. By an elderly couple out walking their dog. It was actually Fido who found her, but it doesn’t look like the dog did anything except expose the hand a bit more. I’m sure you’ll be able to confirm that fairly quickly.”
Behind them the FIS team was setting down their equipment. Drumm nodded to the leader, whom he knew well, and stepped aside. He and Singh walked back from the scene to the trail. It wasn’t that he was squeamish but Drumm liked to give the Coroner and fisties room to get started without his breathing down their necks. They were extremely competent people and didn’t need his help. Having watched them many times before, Drumm knew their routine. He would check in later when there was a bit more to see.
“What are your thoughts on how he got her here, Nick? We’re a good eight hundred yards from the parking lot after all.” Lori was fixing her hair which had come partially undone, as she looked back up the path, eyes squinting against the morning sun. “I can’t see any signs of drag marks.”
Drumm said, “Well, if it
was
a ‘he’; it might have been a ‘she’, or even ‘they’. As for how, I suppose she might have been carried, over the shoulder maybe or brought in a wheelbarrow. Let’s go this way.”
They turned and walked down the trail, away from the parking lot and crime scene, going further into the park. The trail continued through the woods, a little straighter now; it was about three feet wide. Drumm was inspecting the brush beside the path as they walked, but what he was really after was the big picture, where the body was in relation to the rest of the park, which he didn’t know all that well.
“Do you know where this path goes, Lori?”
“Sure. I’ve cycled it many times. It’s not long, especially on a bike. There’s a lake a half-mile or so ahead. Blue Heron Trail skirts the water on the right up there and then goes around the lake – it’s more of a pond, actually – and ends up back at the main gate. All told, maybe two miles?”
Drumm was curious. “You’ve cycled it, you say? Do you live near here?”
“No, I don’t live near here at all, I just know the area. It makes a good end point for my rides. I live over in the Cedar Heights area.” She paused for a second, then said, “I find a good long bike ride helps me relax. I like to come over here and sit and watch the geese.” She fell silent, as though feeling she had said too much.
Well, well, a nature lover
, Drumm thought. He said, “So, you come to take a gander at the geese? Sorry, not funny.” He paused and Lori smiled briefly. “There must be other ways to access the trail then, up ahead? Other places where the killer could have gotten the body into the park? Say, by parking on a sideroad and getting over the fence?” But then he answered his own question. “But why would he do that when this way was so much easier?”
“It could be done, Nick, yes. There are a couple of places where the trail gets close to the park boundary. It’s mostly bush there, though, and a long way from here. I don’t see why he would make it hard on himself when he has this easy access here.” Singh pointed back towards the main gate.