Dead of Knight (7 page)

Staal nodded.

“Jack,” Fraser said standing to his full height. “I’m tired of sitting on my fucking hands waiting for something to happen.”

“Let’s get this fuck before he kills again,” Gina said.

“All right.” Staal paused for a moment to plan his words, but Gooch got there first.

“Wakamatsu will stay on our cases. Gina, you’re going to have to hold his hand on these bank jobs.”

Nick Murdocco appeared from the elevator, headed for Staal’s desk and said, “Don’t mind if I do,” as he grabbed a chocolate-chip muffin from the box.

Staal noticed other members of the Integrated Team gathering around the coffee machine and talking on cell-phones. Soon they would suit up to search the Walker apartment.

“Hey, Staal, should-a seen the tail I had last night. Mmm-mm, finger licking good.”

Murdocco’s stories of female conquest were legendary. Total bullshit of course; his wife would kill him in his sleep if he ever messed around.

Staal looked at his watch; the teams still had an hour before they were due out at the Walker place. “Yeah? So, what’s the team doing here?”

“We’ve got Jim Dell working with Linda Blair now. Word is she’s almost done.”

Constable Linda Blair was a top composite sketch artist with the RCMP. She used old-school charcoal and paper, as well as all the latest computer software.

“I think Blair is in the coffee room, so I’m heading that way,” Murdocco said as he stuffed half a muffin into his mouth. “Hey, Jack; Dell seems to want to talk to you on this.”

“Yeah? We spoke at the scene.”

“You and Hayes still doing the nasty-dance, Jack-o?” Murdocco smiled and gestured for Jack to share some details.

Staal got up from his desk and heard Gooch sigh her disapproval. She had already begun the crime scene report, typing proficiently like a trained secretary, not plunking away one finger at a time, as most cops do.

Staal nodded to Linda Blair as he entered the coffee room. “How come you’re in here?”

“Barnes offered me his office, but this is fine,” Blair said.

Staal stood in the far corner of the room sipping coffee, his eye on Blair. She was tall, attractive, and as fit at fifty as she had been the first time he met her at thirty-five.           

Jim Dell held up a pencil likeness of the suspect. “Yeah, this one is closer than the computer one,” he said.

Blair handed the composite photograph to Staal. Staal took the sketch drawing from Jim Dell.

“Hello, Jim. This is the guy you saw at your diner?”

“Yeah. You think this is the bastard that killed Kim?” Dell asked.

“Number one on my list, Mr. Dell. Thanks for your time on this.”

“If I ever see that little fuck
...
”

“You’ll dial 9-1-1, Mr. Dell!” Staal interrupted. “You interfere, you could be his next victim, and that little fuck will know we’re on to him.”

Staal shook Dell’s hand and asked Blair for a dozen copies of each likeness.

“You got it, Jack,” Blair said. “Mr. Dell has offered to look at some mug shots, so I’ll run through those with him.”

Staal nodded to Blair and left the room. In the hall just out of the coffee room, two members of IHIT ambushed him.

“What the fuck are you doing with my witness?” Corporal Donald Chin stepped in close to Staal.

“I’m doing your job, as usual, Chin!”

“Don’t need your kind of help, Staal.” Chin was nearly a foot shorter than Staal. His head was shaved and his eyes were always severe and piercing.

“All right. Enough of this shit,” Michelle Dionne said. In her boots Dionne was almost as tall as Staal—six foot two—and she spoke with a French Canadian accent.

Staal left Chin and Dionne and found Gooch and the others.

“Check these out.” He handed the photos to the detectives.

“I’m going to look into that therapist angle,” Gooch said.

“Good, I’m gonna stop by Holding and show these to A.J. Morgan.”

Staal pulled on his blazer, had one last gulp of his coffee, and took a fresh radio from the charging rack. He rode the elevator down to the basement to the holding cells. He nodded to the watch sergeant Tony Gwinn and walked to cell six.

“Hey, Morgan, I told Crown Council that you were helpful last night.” Staal stood outside A.J. Morgan's holding cell. He cold smell the man’s body odor and noticed how nervous his eyes were.

“So?” Morgan spat.

“So, take a look at this and be happy Detective Degarmo doesn’t beef about the piece you pulled on her.” Staal passed the composite through the bars.

“Who’s this?” Morgan snatched the photo.

“You tell me, A.J.”

“Well, it looks like the dude from last night in the lane.”

“You see him around the neighborhood at all?”

“Nah, I aint seen him before last night.”

Jack
Staal met Rachael and the others next to the motor pool parking lot.

“I think you and Ken should re-canvass the neighborhood around Jim Dell’s place,” Gooch said to Staal. “Alexander gave Gina and I some tips about how to check out the therapy angle.” 

“Sounds like a plan,” Staal said. He told Gooch to call if she got anything and then climbed behind the wheel of his vehicle, a dark blue Chevrolet Impala.

“So, Jack. How’s it going with the Sarge?” Fraser asked.

“Hmm, you think she was gung-ho before? Shit!” Staal shook his head.

“Shoulda been you, Jack.”

“Huh?”

“The promotion. Gooch got the stripe—but we all look to you. When Birthday Boy goes down—I’ll bet my left nut it’s you that takes him.”

“Thanks. Guess I’ve never kissed the right butts.”

“The only butt you’ve ever kissed is my partner’s. How’s that going, anyway?”

“Good. According to me, damn good!”

“Yeah? Gina says the same thing.”

Staal pulled the Impala into a tight parking spot in front of a coffee shop. “You hungry? I’m buying.”

“We’re not reworking the scene?” Fraser asked, a puzzled look on his face.

“Nothing there,” Staal shook his head slightly. “Besides if any of IHIT is there or Drummond’s people...”

“So, what’s our move, then?”

“Well, we’re gonna contact the families of the vics and show them the sketches...maybe someone remembers our guy in black.”

“Maybe someone remembers him hanging around—stalking the women?”

“Yeah, I have the family and contact list. We’ll split it and see who we can get to come in for a look at these drawings.”

The detectives found a table and quickly ordered. It reminded Staal of Jim’s Diner, only newer and cleaner.

“What’s the deal with you and Chin?” Fraser asked. “I heard you and him got in each other’s face over by the coffee room.”

Staal smiled. “Me and Donny go way back.”

“Even before the Burke case?”

The Burke case was Staal’s first homicide after transferring from VPD and the case over which he and Chin had almost come to blows. “Oh, yeah.” He smiled at the memory. “Guess I was second year on patrol. Chin was a rook with the Richmond Mounties.”

“Here we go.”

“I was rolling the Robson Strip. Chin and three of his buddies from the job were cruising and I stopped him for blowing a red.”

“It started with a traffic stop? Shit!”

“Yeah.”

“Let me guess. He was DUI and you took him in?” Fraser had an excited smile on his oversized face.

“He was way over point eight, but my partner was willing to let him park and cab it home...”

“You weren’t into showing a bit of professional courtesy?”

“I had no problem with the P.C. But the little prick said some shit about me not having the stones to process his ass.”

“So, of course you did.” Fraser shook his head.

“Yeah, he took a suspension and his probation was extended.”

Staal washed down eggs, bacon, potatoes and toast with copious amounts of the thick dark liquid the diner passed off as coffee. Fraser nibbled a fruit tray and plain yogurt.

Staal wrote six names and numbers from his list and handed them to Fraser. He was about to call Stephanie McKay’s boyfriend, Brett Lawson, when his phone chirped a familiar sound signaling that he had a text message from Degarmo.

JS. Still waiting for entry on Walker search.

Drummond sent e-mail. A personal f/x list from Walker’s purse.

I don’t see anything. Take a look?

The list included the usual contents of any woman’s purse and pockets. Staal skimmed the list of makeup, feminine hygiene products and candy, and then his eyes fell on the second-to-last item, a book club card from Richardsons Books.

Staal sent Degarmo a text message asking for more info about the club card and quickly received a reply. The card was signed by Kimberly Walker and entitled her to 10% off regular priced merchandise and half price on her birthday at any of the chain’s stores.

“Shit,” he whispered. Staal remembered a book club card listed in Gabriella Haywood’s car. Could this be the connection? He shook his head. He wasn’t ready to give up on his gut feeling the victims knew each other. He dialed Degarmo and asked her about the card.

“Shit, Jack—I completely forgot about that card in Haywood’s vehicle.”

“The team isn’t assembled or ready for the search, is it?”

“No, still trickling in from all over. Walker’s sister is holding us up—getting the kids out of the house.”

“About the cards? Are they both Richardsons?”

“I’ll make a call to make sure it’s the same bookstore. Give me five.”

Staal took a minute to fill Fraser in. Jack was feeling jazzed about the potential lead.

“Kind of thin, don’t you think?” Fraser asked.

Staal waited for the waitress to finish filling his coffee before he answered. “I’ll take thin over nothing.”

His phone rang.

“Both had Richardsons Books Birthday Club cards, Jack.”

Staal smiled. “Well, now you and Nick have something to do while you wait to get into Walker’s place.”

There was a lengthy pause.

“Jack, you wanna take it?”

“Huh?”

“Murdocco is at the morgue with Wong for Walker’s body. I’m standing here watching bits and pieces of two IHIT teams trip over their dicks and, shit, the media is going fuckin’ nuts.”

Staal listened to Degarmo describe the crowd of civilians and reporters who were becoming hyper about the growing army of RCMP vehicles and staff. He glanced at Fraser, who waited with his eyebrows raised.

“Sure, Les. Me and Ken will look into it.”

He hung up.

“Both vics have Richardsons Book club cards?” Fraser asked.

“Yeah.” Staal glanced at his watch. It was after nine. He dialed information and asked for a number for Richardsons Books in Hanson.

A young happy female voice answered. Staal introduced himself and asked to talk to the store manager. A minute later, a male voice, perhaps 45 years old, came on the line and said he was Stephen Thomas, the manager.

Staal introduced himself. “Mr. Thomas, I need you to look up a couple of names and let me know if they are members of your book club.” He gave Haywood and Walker’s full names. He heard the man typing on a computer keyboard.

“Yes, Detective. They both are customers and club card holders.”

“At which store?” Staal asked.

“At this store, Detective.”

“Mr. Thomas, could you check one more name? Stephanie MacKay.”

There was a pause. “We have several MacKay’s, but no Stephanie.”

“Does this include all your stores?”

“Yes, Detective; all eleven stores.”

Staal thought this over. MacKay was divorced. Her maiden name was Greene. “Can you try Stephanie Greene, Mr. Thomas?”

“I’m sorry, Detective, no luck.”

Staal thanked Thomas for his help and learned that Thomas would be working until the store closed at 8:30 PM.

To Fraser, Staal said, “Both Haywood and Walker shopped the Lake City store.”

“Head over and show the composite photos?” Fraser was already moving from his seat.

“Yeah.”