There was a list of emergency numbers fastened with a cat magnet to Doris’s fridge. First I made the 911 call, then I roused the superintendents, Mr. and Mrs. Desjardins. The phone rang for a long time and when Mr. Desjardins finally answered, he didn’t seem able to comprehend what I was saying. I repeated myself and then asked him to come to the apartment so he could take care of Grace. She was sitting on one of the kitchen chairs as I’d directed her and she could hear my half of the conversation. She began to gesticulate violently and when I hung up she said, “They drink, that’s why he couldn’t understand you. I don’t want to be with them. I’ll sit here.”
“Grace, you can’t. This is now a crime scene and there will be all kinds of officers swarming all over the place.”
“Well, I’m not going to be with those two parasites. Besides, they smoke and their apartment stinks. The woman in the next apartment was a friend of Doris’s. I’ve met her a few times and she impressed me as a steady sort. She was a doctor herself years ago. I’d rather wake her up and be with her until you need me.”
If anything Grace had gone even whiter but her voice was still strong. She was gripping her walker tightly but otherwise she herself was steady. No tears, no trembling, just the awful pallor.
“Come on then.”
I put myself between the body and Grace as we walked across the living room and she kept her eyes straight ahead.
Unlike the superintendents, who still hadn’t appeared, the neighbour, whose name was Edith Cowan, answered quickly. She was a tiny woman who at the moment was wearing a mesh hairnet over iron grey hair and a serviceable navy dressing gown. As Grace had said, it was apparent she was a “steady sort.”
I didn’t go into details, just explained who I was and said that Mrs. Bryant was dead and could Grace stay with her for a while.
“Of course.”
At that moment, the elevator doors opened and disgorged two paramedics, four firefighters, and a uniformed constable.
Grace, who had been so stalwart up to this point, said quietly. “I think I’m going to vomit.”
Edith put her arm around Grace’s waist. “Let’s get you to the bathroom.”
She whisked her inside and closed the door, leaving me free to deal with the emergency crew.
I told them I was pretty sure Doris Bryant had died as the result of a stroke but because of other circumstances, I was treating it as a case of equivocal death, which meant the body had to remain where it was until the coroner and the forensics team arrived. Coincidently, the paramedics were the same pair who’d answered the call to come to the pier.
“We probably should check her vitals to make sure,” said the girl. She and her partner, although to my eyes looking as if they were barely out of high school, were calm and professional. I suppose old ladies felled by a stroke were much more within the norm than a girl strangled and dumped into the lake.
“Just you then. And you, constable. I can’t have a lot of people traipsing through.”
They went inside and I had a brief talk with the firefighters, who started to pick up their equipment and head for the elevator. One of them lingered.
“I know Mrs. Bryant. She was a member of our church,” he said. “A good soul if ever there was one. She lived in Orillia all her life. She was my mother’s teacher.” He crossed himself. “May she rest in peace.” He hesitated. “I don’t suppose you can tell me what happened?”
“I’m afraid I can’t at the moment.”
He had a kind face and he eyed me sympathetically. “It was nasty, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, it was.”
The two paramedics came out of the apartment.
“No vitals,” said Cathy. She and her partner, whose name I had forgotten, started to fold up their stretcher.
“How’s the man with hypothermia?” she asked.
“He’s fully recovered, thanks.”
From that, anyway.
All of them left except the constable who’d got the emergency call. He was waiting with his notebook in his hand. I briefed him as to what had happened and why I was there. He was a gangly young guy who gave his name as Geoff Purvis. As first on the scene, his job was now to secure the site and then stay with the body until he was told he could leave, and although he didn’t complain, I could see the expression on his face. His shift was almost up and he could be here for hours longer.
I went back into the apartment but stayed at the door. No sense in making forensics’ job more difficult by the two of us leaving trace elements. At the moment, all I was doing was trying to get an overview. I had more chance to assess the apartment now. Doris must have tried to get out of her wheelchair because her bathrobe was open to her knees. She was naked underneath. I know it wasn’t rational but I felt sorry that she was so exposed. I couldn’t give her some dignity by covering her up but I understood the impulse that makes people alter clothes or the position of the body when the victim is somebody they have cared for.
“My auntie lives in a seniors’ home,” said Purvis. “It looks just like this. All her stuff crammed into one room when she used to have a whole house. This lady kept it tidy, though, which is more than I can say for my auntie.”
He was right about it being both tidy and crammed. There wasn’t a lot of room to manoeuvre the wheelchair and I could see faint lines on the carpet where the chair had started to mark a path. To the bedroom at the rear, bathroom, across the living room to the kitchen. There was a large state-of-the-art plasma TV nestled in a shelving unit along one wall. The senior’s delight. I could see several framed photographs on the shelves. Children and grandchildren probably. Doris’s life. All victims had a life and sometimes the hardest part of a case was dealing with the impact the death had on those left behind. Unbidden, I felt a wave of anger that actually made me clench my teeth. “A good woman,” the firefighter had said. She should have ended her days peacefully, not in this violent shameful way.
“Did you see any signs of how the guy got in?” I asked Purvis.
“None at all. The windows are closed, this door is the only entrance and shows no signs of forced entry. Either it wasn’t locked or the bad guy had a key. The bathroom’s been used recently, the towels are wet, but she may have done that herself given what you’ve said.”
I nodded. “She took a shower.”
We heard the ping of the elevator and out stepped two officers. One was Detective Inspector Ian Franklin, the other a female plainclothes officer who was a few paces behind. I wasn’t surprised at that. I’d met Franklin on a case last year and I wasn’t happy it was his watch. He was close to retirement, old school, and I thought took undue pride in being “a straight shooter,” which meant in his case, a tactless jerk. Rather unexpectedly, he seemed glad to see me, greeting me as if we were old pals. I felt a bit guilty about my uncharitable feelings toward him and warmed up my smile. He didn’t introduce the woman but I held out my hand and we shook, like good lads.
“Christine Morris. I’m with the Behavioural Science Centre.”
“Detective Constable Susan Bailey,” she returned. “I thought you guys never came out in daylight.”
She had blonde tips, a firm figure, and there was a twinkle in her eyes that softened the sarcasm and made me think she wasn’t as overawed by Franklin as it first appeared.
“So what’s the story?” he asked. “You saying this isn’t a natural?”
I filled him in on what I knew so far going from Grace’s call. He scowled but his only comment was, “My mother-in-law’s nearly eighty. I wouldn’t want it to happen to even that old biddy. We’ve got to put this guy away for good.”