A Striking Death (9 page)

twenty-five

Danny’s was located on Fifth Street, a peaceful, tree-lined avenue just east of York’s main downtown section. There was a Safe Space sticker in the front window. Inside, Drumm waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. There was a long bar with a row of stools in front of it, a separate dining section and a small dance floor.

He found the manager without difficulty behind the bar and showed his badge.

“Violent Crimes Unit? What’s this about?” The manager was a man in his forties with a thick crop of black hair. He was wearing a white dress shirt, open at the neck, with sleeves rolled up and dark slacks. He had the knack that many Italians have, of looking both casual and elegant at the same time.

“Just routine enquiries, Mr. Moretti. We’re investigating a homicide.”

“Call me Guido. Everybody does.” Moretti looked worried. “Homicide?” His hand went to the gold chain around his neck which he fingered nervously. “Was it that man I saw on the news?”

“Arthur Billinger, yes. Did you know him?”

“Not by name, no. But he came in here occasionally, usually with another gentleman. I try to remember most of my customers.”

“The man he was with, was he short and overweight?” Drumm described Levine more thoroughly, without mentioning that he was recently deceased. Moretti would find out soon enough.

“Yes, that was him. They would come here every few months or so.”

“Did Levine ever show up by himself?”

“If he did, I never saw him.”

“How about Arthur Billinger?”

“Once in a while, I think. But not often.” He beckoned to the bartender. “Two cappuccinos, Craig. Bring them to table four.” To Drumm he said, “We’ll have more privacy there.”

Drumm nodded and followed the manager to a quiet booth in the corner. He sipped his cappuccino. “You don’t seem gay, Mr. Moretti.”

The manager smiled. “I’m not. And before you ask, I’m not sure how it happened. We didn’t intend this place to be a gay bar, it just evolved that way. My partner and I – my
business
partner, that is – just wanted to open a place that was a comfortable spot for couples to hang out. And it’s worked. It’s just that many of our customers are gay. And, of course, we have no problem with that.”

“No. As long as their money is good, why not?” Drumm paused. “When Billinger was here by himself, did you ever see him hook up with anyone else?”

Moretti pondered. “It’s hard to remember. I want to say no, but I can’t say for sure. It gets pretty busy in here.”

“I understand.” Drumm took another sip. “Can you ever remember Billinger being here with anyone else? Other than Levine, that is.”

Moretti thought for a few seconds and shook his head. “No.”

“Did you ever notice anyone taking an interest in him? Checking him out, maybe?”

Moretti was amused. “Cruising? I don’t think so.”

Drumm loved cappuccino. He took another small sip, trying to make it last. “Specifically, we are interested in talking to a well-dressed man in his forties, short grey hair, with a diamond stud in his right ear.” He sat back in his chair. “Ever seen him in here?”

Moretti was looking doubtful. He held his cappuccino, thinking. “It’s possible. Our clientele includes a lot of well-dressed men. We’re so close to the downtown, you understand. And plenty of them have diamond studs in their ears. Plenty. But I can’t picture this man of yours specifically, no.”

“So you never noticed him paying attention to Mr. Billinger?”

Moretti said, “I never noticed him at all. He may have been here once but I can’t really say. Sorry I can’t be more helpful.”

Drumm finished his cappuccino. “No, you’ve been very accommodating, Mr. Moretti. Last question: can you think of anyone, any of your customers or employees, who would want to harm Arthur Billinger? Anyone who would have a grudge against him?”

Moretti shook his head. “No, not at all.” He pointed at Drumm’s cup. “Another?”

“I’d love to, but some other time. I’ll take a rain check. Arrivederci, Guido.”

And that was that, thought Drumm, as he made his exit. A dead end if he ever saw one. They would keep looking for the mysterious bald businessman. If he existed.

twenty-six

Detective Dick was subdued, thought Lori. He had left her alone for the most part as they had gone through Daniel Levine’s rooms again, one by one. McDonald had done his share and she had seen for herself how thorough he could be.

Levine’s wallet was on his bedroom dresser. It contained some photos, one showing him with Arthur Billinger, standing side by side at a lake somewhere. There was another with a much younger Levine, arm around the waist of an older woman; on her other side was a taller man, also with his arm around her. The resemblance was striking. On the back was written, “Mom and Frederick.” McDonald had volunteered to track down Frederick, who was probably Levine’s brother. Lori would check Levine’s phone records to see if anything interesting turned up. She wasn’t expecting much.

They had been unable to find any evidence that someone had been in the house. There was no sign of forced entry, nothing was disturbed in any of the rooms. Everything was perfectly normal except for a body hanging in the garage.

Before she left, Sigrid Brandt had confirmed that Levine had been strangled first, from behind, and then hung up from the rafter. “Most likely with the same rope that you saw in the garage,” she said. “If it wasn’t, it was something similar. I found extensive trauma inside his throat. That’s consistent with someone being strangled. They usually put up a struggle and that causes the damage.”

“And you say between ten and midnight last night?” asked Lori.

“Yes. I can’t narrow it down any more than that. I’ll be able to give you more after the post. I’ll get to that right away.”

“Not to be indelicate, Sigrid,” asked McDonald, “but I thought people usually pissed themselves when they were strangled. Or worse.”

The Coroner frowned at him. “So they do. And Mr. Levine did.”

McDonald cleared his throat. “Well, it occurred to me that if he had, we could find out where in the house he was killed. Because surely there would be a stain or a sign of it at least. Like, if he was sitting at the kitchen table and someone choked him from behind, the fisties might find traces of p- …. urine on the chair. Or floor, if there was a lot. Even if the killer tried to clean it up, the fisties should be able to find traces.”

The Coroner nodded. “Very likely,” she said.

Lori looked at her partner with respect. He was looking pleased with himself. “Good thinking,” she said.

McDonald grinned. “Thanks, love. You see, I am more than just a pretty face.”

Brandt frowned again. “I’ll be on my way. Please tell Nicholas I’ll be doing the post-mortem this afternoon. And I’ll get you the results as soon as I can.”

After the Coroner left, Lori said to McDonald, “Let’s tell Ken your theory about the urine. See what he thinks.”

They found McIntee in the master bedroom. “A test for urine? Well, in the field, the best way is still the heat and sniff method. If we find something we think is urine, we can take a sample back to the lab and check it.”

McDonald said, “Let’s assume he was killed somewhere in the house. Most likely it would have been here in the bedroom, or maybe the kitchen or living room. That’s where we should check first. Let’s have a go, shall we?”

It was Lori who found the spot. She was on all fours in the living room, trying to smell the furniture without actually touching anything with her nose. In front of the couch, her nostrils wrinkled with distaste at the acrid smell of ammonia. “Here,” she called out.

Detective Dick came into the room and burst out laughing. “Quite the view, love! Where’s that photographer? Have to get a picture of this! Singh the bloodhound!”

Lori sat back on her haunches and eyed him coldly. “Have a little respect,” she said. “A man was likely murdered right here.” She pointed to the left hand end of the couch.

Ken McIntee came in and sniffed the sofa as well. “I think you’ve found where he was killed,” he confirmed. “We’ll take this back to the lab to make sure.” He picked up the seat cushion and looked at McDonald. “That was a good idea you had.”

Lori had stood up. “Don’t encourage him. He’s insufferable enough.” She gave McDonald her bleakest look. “I’m heading out for some air.”

McDonald followed her out onto the sidewalk in front of Levine’s house, fishing a cigarette package out of his jacket on the way.

“Do you have to smoke right now?”

McDonald exhaled smoke as he studied her. “Yes, love, I do. It bothers you that much, does it?” His sandy hair was blown back in the morning breeze.

Lori flushed. She was letting him get under her skin. She resolved to do better. “What you do is your business. Just don’t blow smoke in my face. Or call me love.”

McDonald gave her a mock salute. He took another long drag from his cigarette and carefully exhaled downwind. “What puzzles me is how the killer entered. We didn’t see any sign that he forced his way in. Do you think Levine knew him and let him in?”

“If he did, one of the neighbours might have seen it. Especially Mrs. Stephens there.” Lori indicated the widow who could be seen sitting in her front window across the street. She would have to talk to her in a minute. “What if he didn’t let him in, though? At least, not knowingly. What if he just left a door unlocked? It happens.”

McDonald exhaled again, dropped his cigarette on the sidewalk and ground it under his boot heel. “It does indeed, love. Let’s join our uniformed friends and finish this damned canvass so we can get something to eat. I’m starved.”

twenty-seven

Drumm was sitting by himself at a table for two at Sunshine Café, a small, trendy place near the downtown. It was a cheery spot with bright yellow walls, a wonderful mural depicting a Caribbean beach and comfortable chairs. There was seating for maybe forty people. He and Emily had come here several times. They liked it for its quick, efficient service and varied menu, Emily enjoying the vegetarian options.

He didn’t like eating alone but sometimes it was unavoidable. As always he sat with his back to the wall so he could survey the other patrons and the street outside. He had just ordered coffee and was considering his options, trying to decide between a burger platter and some type of pasta. The choice would depend partly on his blood sugar reading which he was about to check. He would have a sip of coffee first and then make a discreet trip to the restroom.

His cellphone buzzed in his pocket. Emily. He’d had to rush this morning, had to ask her to look after Will, and barely had time to talk to her. He’d promised to call her and then forgot. Drumm sighed.

“Where are you, Nick?”

Was she mad at him? Four words weren’t enough to tell. “I’m just grabbing a quick bite at Sunshine’s.”

“What happened to the phone call?” She was definitely annoyed, no doubt about it.

Drumm could picture her: Emily’s lips would have that pinched look and her eyes all squinty. He’d seen it too many times before. Suddenly he was tired of it all.

“Emily, I’m on a new case. I got involved and I forgot. I’m sorry.” The problem was he didn’t sound sorry, even to himself.

“At least you’re honest. You forgot about me.” Her voice was chilly.

“Emily…”

“I won’t be home tonight, Nick. You’ll have to look after Will. And get your own dinner.” And she hung up.

Drumm grimaced at the phone and then wearily replaced it in his pocket.

The server brought his coffee a few moments later.

“Nothing else for the moment, thanks,” he told her. “I guess I’m not hungry after all.” His appetite had suddenly gone. Damn Emily! Why couldn’t she understand?

twenty-eight

Lori Singh had managed to avoid eating with her new partner. She had begged off, said she had business elsewhere. She couldn’t stand the thought of sharing a meal with him just yet. So here she was, having a late lunch at an Indian restaurant she had been to before. It was a busy place, even this late in the afternoon. Spice Indian Cuisine, it was called, and it occupied the entire second floor of an older building a mile or so from the YPS headquarters. There were maybe forty other diners at the moment.

She’d ordered basmati rice, lamb korma and a Heineken. She usually preferred wine but with Indian food, beer seemed the right choice.

She savoured her food, sipped her beer and thought about the morning’s events. From watching geese to here – quite a change.

She and McDonald had completed questioning the neighbours. Her notebook was filled with notes that said little. Nobody had seen or heard anything. There had been no new vehicles parked on the street, no mysterious strangers. The only thing they had was that Levine’s car had been left on his driveway overnight, and they had no explanation as to why.

Lori drank some more beer. Louise Stephens was certain the car had been on the driveway when she went to bed, and still there the next morning. Lori had spent a lot of time with the widow, calming her down and seeing if she knew any more. She didn’t. It had taken a long time to establish this, unfortunately.

Lori sighed and picked up her glass again. The food was good, the beer even better. Too bad she didn’t have someone to share it with. But at least she wasn’t with Detective Dick.

Lori’s phone had a special ring tone for her boss. She heard that sound now.

“Hello, Nick. Where are you?”

When he told her, she laughed. “We’re only a mile or so from each other!” She told him where she was. “Bring your lunch over here. I’ll wait.” She was only half joking.

“Can’t. I have to hustle over to the morgue for Sigrid’s post mortem. I’ll be lucky to make it on time.”

Lori thought his voice wasn’t right. “Is everything okay? You sound a little strange.” Actually she thought he sounded exhausted.

“No, I’m fine. Must be the connection.” He cleared his throat. “I want to hear about the rest of the morning but I don’t have time right now. What you and Dick learned, I mean.”

“It wasn’t much.” She started to summarize what they had found out but he cut her off.

“No time, Lori. I have to run.” She could hear him talking to someone in the background, and then he came back on. “Sorry about that. Just getting the bill. What are you doing this afternoon?”

Lori sighed. “Back to see Mike Bailey. And Dick’s notifying Levine’s next of kin. And then he’s going to check the phone records and—”

“Lori, I’m sorry, I don’t have time. Let’s get together later at the Pig and Whistle.  Four thirty. Make sure Dick comes too.”

“Okay, I’ll see you there.”