When Millar got to his office, the red light was flashing on his phone. He put in his pass code for his voice mail and listened to the message.
‘Detective Millar, it’s Sergeant Whitely. Constable Grant asked me to give you a call regarding the canvas my guys did last night. Unfortunately, they didn’t turn up anything—no one seems to have seen or heard anything. I have a couple of them out again this morning, asking questions. If they turn up anything, I’ll let you know.’
‘Typical,’ Millar said to himself. Many times, even if someone did know something, they wouldn’t report it. There was still a distrust of the police in the area. There was a second message, this one from Tina, apologizing for the way she had acted that morning and saying she hoped Millar could make it to her meet that afternoon. He looked at the clock. Depending on how things went at Ms. Wong’s, he may be able to make it. Well, as long as nothing else came up. ‘Big if,’ he thought.
‘Ready to go?’ Penner asked, leaning against the frame of the door. ‘I’m all done here, just had to drop off some paperwork with the Captain. He’s been bustin’ my hump for not filing my reports on time.’
‘Yeah, I got a message from him last week, so I’ve been avoiding him. It’s been working so far.’ Millar knocked on his wooden desk. ‘Want to take my car or yours?’
‘Let’s take yours. That way I can catch a couple minutes of sleep,’ Penner said.
‘Nice. That seems fair.’ Millar stood up from his desk and grabbed his car keys.
As they walked into the hall, they almost bumped into Constable Grant. ‘Detectives,’ Grant said. ‘Just came to see you, Detective Millar. Mr. Singh, the bus driver, is upstairs to see you.’
‘I thought I told you to just give me his number? I’m busy right now. I don’t have time for him.’ Millar sounded annoyed.
‘You did, sir. He just showed up on his own,’ Grant explained. ‘I can tell him to come back later if you like, sir,’ He added, starting to turn to walk away.
‘No, that’s fine,’ said Millar, turning to Penner, ‘We don’t both need to do the death notification, right? Why don’t you take the good Constable here and I’ll stay and talk to the bus driver.’
‘Well, that doesn’t seem like a very good trade!’ Penner said. Like most detectives, she hated doing death notifications. It was definitely one of the worst parts of the job. ‘Rock, Paper, Scissors.’
‘Fine, on three,’ Millar said. They each made a fist and brought it down to their other hand on the counts of one and two. On three, Millar laid his hand out flat, while Penner held two fingers out like a pair of scissors. ‘Crap,’ said Millar.
‘Scissors beat paper. Constable, what room is Mr. Singh in?’ Penner asked with a smugness to her voice.
‘Room A-3, ma-am,’ Grant said. He couldn’t help but smile.
‘Fine, I’ll go,’ Millar said. ‘Ever do a death notice, Constable?’ he added, noticing the smile.
‘Um, no, sir. Well, not a real one, just simulation in training,’ Grant replied.
‘Well, you will today. You’re coming with me,’ Millar said. ‘I’ll let you know what we find out,’ he said over his shoulder to Penner as he started walking down the hall, Grant on his heels.
‘Likewise. Have fun.’ Penner enjoyed beating Millar any chance she got, which was quite often. For some reason, he always chose paper.
‘Thanks for taking me along, Detective,’ Grant said to Millar as they drove to the address on file for Ms. Wong.
‘No problem,’ Millar replied. He always found it best doing death notices with someone else, especially when you weren’t sure who you were going to talk to or how they would react. Who knows, the person you’re notifying could actually be the killer. ‘Okay, when we’re there, I’ll do the talking. I want you to pay attention to the reactions of anyone who’s there. Also, check out the room that we’re in, see if you can get a feel for the type of environment.’
‘Type of environment, sir? What should I be looking for?’ Grant asked, taking out his notebook and pen.
‘Look to see if it seems like a good household. You know, happy looking pictures, holes in the walls or anything. Blood stains. Anything that stands out. Anything out of the norm. But try to be subtle.’ Millar glanced over his shoulder and turned onto Queen street.
‘Right.’ Grant finished writing. ‘So, I don’t know if you remember me, but I met you at your last book signing here in town.’
‘Sorry, I meet a lot of people at those,’ Millar said. ‘That was the one at the Convention Centre?’
‘That’s the one. I was getting your newest book signed. And I was kicking myself because I forgot to bring your other two to get signed as well,’ Grant said.
‘You have all my books?’ Millar was a bit surprised. Patrol officers weren’t his usual target market.
‘Yes, sir. Profiling is really intriguing to me, the way you can formulate an idea as to who to look for just based on the type of crime and stuff. Really cool.’
‘Huh,’ Millar said, coming to a stop at a red light. ‘So, if you were leading this, who would you be looking for?’
‘What? Well,’ Grant paused and thought for a moment. ‘I’m not too sure. Based on the type of crime, I would be leaning towards a white male, probably early forties. I really haven’t giving it too much thought though. And you?’
‘Don’t know yet,’ Millar said pulling into the laneway. He thought that maybe Constable Grant was more intelligent than he’d given him credit for. ‘Right,’ he said, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening his door, ‘Just be observant for now.’ They got out of the car and walked up to the front door.
Mr. Singh was pacing along the back wall of the small interview room when Penner opened the door.
‘Good afternoon, Mr. Singh. Thanks for coming down. I’m Detective…’ Mr. Singh cut her off before she could finish.
‘Did I do something wrong? Why did you want to see me?’ Mr. Singh was visibly distraught.
‘No, not at all. As I was saying, I’m Detective Penner. I just have a couple of questions for you about your route last night,’ Penner said. ‘Can I get you a drink? Coffee? Tea? Water?’
‘No, no, thank you. I would just like to know why you wanted to see me. My supervisor told me that a police officer had called and was asking about me. Wanted to know who was driving my route last night. I have been wracking my brain trying to figure out what I did wrong? Was I speeding? I am usually very careful when I drive, making sure I stay in the speed limit. Did someone complain about me?’ Mr. Singh pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his brow. ‘I didn’t run a stop sign did I? Do I need a lawyer?’
‘Mr. Singh, please have a seat, you’re not in any trouble.’ Penner pulled out a chair for herself at a long table. Mr. Singh finally sat down across from her. ‘So, last night, you were driving route number eleven. Is that correct, Mr. Singh?’ Penner asked, referring to her notes.
‘Yes, that is correct. Please, call me Sanjay,’ Mr. Singh responded, wiping his forehead again.
‘Did you notice anything out of the ordinary on your route last night?’
‘No, not that I recall. It was a pretty normal night. The run was busy until around 10:30, or so. Then, the last couple of circuits, there weren’t too many passengers. Typical. Seems like most people are asleep by eleven o’clock here.’ Mr. Singh seemed to have calmed down a bit. ‘There’s always the odd rider on each run, but as it gets later, the numbers go down.’
‘Are you familiar with the Terry Fox statue that’s on Wellington Street?’ Penner asked.
‘Of course, there’s a stop right beside it. Not one of the busier stops. I may stop there two, three times a shift. I think it’s a lot busier during the day with tourists going to Parliament Hill for the tours, but they stop around five. After that, some people go just to wander around, but not too many.’
‘How many times do you drive by it during your shift?’ Penner asked.
’Five times. No, six,’ Mr. Singh said.
‘And you work three in the afternoon until one in the morning?’ Penner asked, writing in her book.
‘Yes. From three until seven thirty I drive the number eighteen. I have dinner from then until nine o’clock and then I drive the number eleven until one a.m. when I park the bus back at the garage.’ Mr. Singh said.
‘Is it typical to do split shifts like that on different runs?’
‘Yes, most of us have to do it. The union has been fighting to get that changed, but so far, the city won’t go for it. For some reason, they don’t think it’s a good idea for the same driver to drive the same route all shift long. I think they worry the driver will get too tired, seeing the same things for eight hours straight. But, a street’s a street, right? No matter where we drive, we are just driving in circles.’ By this time, Mr. Singh seemed quite relaxed.
‘Makes sense. So, last night, did you happen to notice anyone around that area? Maybe a car parked where there usually isn’t one, or someone sitting down? Anyone carrying someone?’ Penner asked.
‘Carrying someone?’ Mr. Singh asked, a bit puzzled. ‘No, nothing like that. But, now that you mention it, I did notice someone sitting by the statue. I figured they were taking a rest on their walk home from a bar. Lots of bars in that area.’
‘Do you remember what time you saw them by any chance?’ Penner asked, leaning in a bit and picking up her pen.
‘I think it was on my second last or maybe the last time I passed. I don’t really remember,’ Mr. Singh said with some uncertainty. ‘I didn’t think much about it, so I didn’t pay much attention to it.’
‘So your last run brought you by there around 12:50, and the one before?’ Penner asked.
‘Each trip is about forty minutes, so around 12:10, or so.’
‘And you didn’t see this person before midnight?’ Penner asked, again writing in her book.
‘I didn’t notice anyone,’ Mr. Singh said, thinking back. ‘Maybe they were there, I don’t know.’
‘Thank you Mr. Singh, you’ve been very helpful. If you think of anything else, please give me a call,’ Penner said, standing up and giving Mr. Singh her card.
‘I will. Thank you, Detective. And it is Sanjay,’ Mr. Singh said, putting the card in his shirt pocket.
‘Again, I am very sorry for your loss, Mr. Wong,’ Millar said, after delivering the news to Mr. Wong that his wife was dead. Millar sat next to Mr. Wong on a sofa in the living room, while Grant stood at a respectful distance. His back was against the wall next to the kitchen entrance, and he was slowly looking around the room.
‘I can’t believe she’s dead.’ Mr. Wong wiped a tear off of his cheek. ‘Where was she found? What happened?’
‘She was found downtown on Wellington Street. We’re still investigating what happened to her,’ Millar said, not wanting to reveal too much information so early in the case. Grant was watching Mr. Wong’s reactions intently. ‘Can you tell us what your wife was doing last night?’
‘She was at a work party. One of her co-workers was leaving to start a new job so they all went out to dinner.’ Mr. Wong wiped at his eyes again with his shirtsleeve. ‘She called me around midnight to say that she was going to be later than expected. It sounded like they were having a good time and wanted to stay out. I think they were going to go to a coffee shop to keep chatting,’ Mr. Wong paused to take a breath. ‘I had to work this morning, so I went to bed. When I got up, she wasn’t here. I just figured she stayed at one of the other girl’s houses for the night. I can’t believe she’s dead!’
‘Do you know the names of the people she went out with?’ Millar asked. Grant pulled out his notebook.
‘Um, the one leaving is Mary. Mary Jonson. I think there were four others—it’s a small office. Jenny Foisy. Dave something, I don’t know his last name. He’s the only guy in the office. There was another one before, but he left to start up his own firm,’ Mr. Wong said. ‘Her boss, Amanda, was probably there, too. And there’s a new girl, but I don’t know her name. Amanda would know.’
‘Whereabouts did she work?’ Grant asked. Millar gave him a look. So much for just observing.
‘She was a legal analyst at Smithers Law, on Kent Street,’ Mr. Wong replied, looking at Grant. ‘She had only been there for a couple of years, but she really liked it. They were a close group working there.’
‘Can you think of anyone who would have wanted to hurt her?’ Millar asked.
‘No, not at all. She was really well liked. She got along great with her co-workers, had lots of friends at church, the other mothers on the PTA all loved her. I can’t believe this,’ Mr. Wong said, starting to tear up again.
‘She was a member of the PTA? You have kids?’ Millar asked. He hadn’t noticed any family photos in the room.
‘Yes, we have a daughter, Mae,’ Mr. Wong said. ‘Karen had her when she was young, only sixteen. How am I going to tell her that her mother’s dead?’
‘So, Mae is…?’ Millar asked.
‘Almost sixteen herself,’ Mr. Wong said, getting up. ‘Very smart girl, she takes after her mother. Well, except for her size. Karen is…’ He stopped himself. ‘Karen was very petite, but Mae, Mae is a big girl. Very strong too.’ He grabbed his phone and brought up a photo of Mae and Karen. ‘This was after Mae won first place in a wresting match just last week. Karen was so proud of her!’
‘Mae wrestles?’ Millar asked. ‘For what school?’
‘Sir Wilfrid Laurier. One of the best wrestlers in the district for her age.’ Mr. Wong smiled, he was obviously very proud of his daughter.
‘Again, we are very sorry for your loss, Mr. Wong,’ Millar said, standing up and moving towards the door. ‘I’ll keep in touch and let you know how the investigation is going. If you have any questions or think of anything, anything at all, please give me a call.’ He handed Mr. Wong a card. ‘We’ll see ourselves out.’
‘So,’ Grant turned to Millar as they stepped outside, closing the front door gently behind them, ‘What’d you think?’ He walked down the front steps behind Millar. ‘Seemed pretty genuine to me. Nothing stood out. I didn’t notice anything strange.’
‘Me, neither. I don’t think he had anything to do with it, but we’ll do a background check when we get back to the precinct,’ Millar said, getting into the car. He looked at his watch. ‘Want to go to a wrestling match?’