The Homeless Killer Page 6
~ ~ ~ ~
“This is the place,” confirmed Dave, comparing the address to what he had in his notebook.
“Nice digs,” remarked Frank as he parked in the pavement stone parking area in front of the building.
The building, an old, very well maintained brownstone on Sherbrooke Street near Clarke Avenue in Westmount, had been converted into prestigious office space and housed the Patrick William Enright Foundation for the Homeless.
They entered into a spacious, elegantly decorated foyer which opened up to a wide, expansive reception area to the right. Straight ahead, a long, wide and high-ceilinged hallway led towards the rear with doors leading to offices, no doubt, lining the walls on either side. Large oil portraits, probably of past Enrights, decorated the walls between the doors.
“Welcome to the Enright Foundation,” the pretty receptionist greeted them with a smile. “I’m Louise. How can I help you?”
“I’m Captain Dave McCall and this is Senior Detective Frank Bakes.”
“Yes Captain, Mr. Enright told me he was expecting you,” Louise replied promptly. “Please make yourself comfortable and I’ll let him know you’re here.”
The two men wandered the large, tastefully appointed room while the receptionist called to announce their arrival. As Dave admired the antique spiral staircase of highly polished dark oak in one corner, an attractive young woman came through the french doors above and descended towards them.
“Thanks Louise,” she addressed the receptionist before turning to them. “Captain McCall, Detective Banks, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Elena White, Mr. Enright’s assistant. William is just finishing a phone call and he’ll be right with you. If you would follow me please.”
She led the way back up the stairs and through the french doors into a large central hall, its walls also hung with obviously high quality art work of various mediums.
“I have a friend who would go crazy seeing these paintings,” commented Dave as they entered the hall. “She’s studied the arts and runs her own gallery today.”
“Patrick the 1st was an art lover and that love has been shared by his descendants to date,” Elena informed them as they admired the works. “Some pieces are more recent, acquired by William or his father but some were actually bought by Patrick the 1st himself.”
“This building is quite impressive as well,” said Frank, an aficionado of older architectural styles. “I love the space and the high ceilings.”
“It was built in 1920 by Patrick the 2nd, William’s grandfather, as the family home and remained as such until Patrick the 3rd passed away in 1989.” Elena informed them. “When William instituted the Foundation, he had the home remodelled into what it is today, all while conserving the original layout to the greatest extent possible.”
She walked to an open door towards the front of the building and ushered them into a spacious den with walls of wood, floor to ceiling bookcases and leather furniture.
“This, for example, was Patrick the 2nd and subsequently, Patrick the 3rd’s study and den,” explained Elena. “The room next door, now William’s office, was actually William’s bedroom when he was a child.”
“That’s kind of neat,” Dave smiled.
“It’s funny, sometimes,” Elena shared with them, “When William becomes too annoying, I send him to his room. Now, gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go get some coffee and William will join you in a moment. Please make yourselves at home.”
They had only to wait a moment before another door, obviously leading directly from Enright’s office, opened and he entered carrying a coffee service, Elena discreetly closing the door behind him.
“Gentlemen, a pleasure to see you again,” said Enright as he laid the tray down on a small table off to one corner, surrounded by four comfortable leather armchairs. “Please have a seat. Coffee?”
Both men accepted and Enright served them before sitting himself.
“I understand that you had another busy afternoon,” said William as he settled himself into the soft leather. “We saw your press conference earlier.”
“Unfortunately, yes,” admitted Dave. “It’s frustrating to be powerless to keep such things from happening.”
“I can understand your frustration,” their host assured. “I’m quite concerned myself seeing as these victims are precisely the people that we are striving to help. Do you think that the four killings so far are related?”
“They might be but, right now, your guess is as good as mine,” McCall replied. “Aside from the four being homeless, we have nothing tying them to date.”
“As I mentioned the last time we met, Captain,” said Enright, “I was quite touched by your obviously sincere attitude towards the homeless. I would be more than pleased to offer any assistance the Foundation could offer.”
“I appreciate the offer, Mr. Enright. Do you have any ideas as to how you could help?”
“Perhaps we can get some flyers and posters printed,” suggested William. “And hire some students to distribute them around town. We could invite the homeless to our centres for information sessions. These could be presented by our counsellors or, if you prefer, by police officers. We could supply the homeless with avenues to report anything suspicious. That kind of thing.”
“I think that all of the above could be helpful,” stated Frank.
“Absolutely,” Dave agreed. “Any of those would be appreciated and could prove useful, Mr. Enright.”
“Excellent,” replied Enright. “We’ll get on this immediately. I’ll sit with a few people to brainstorm no later than tomorrow morning and get things rolling. I’ll see to getting some other shelters and organizations involved as well.”
“Thank you, Mr. Enright,” said the captain. “I’ll get the word out in the department on what you’re planning.”
“Good,” William acknowledged. “And please, enough of this Mister stuff.”
His mood seemingly becoming contrite, Enright continued. “Now, I’m presuming that you gentlemen did not come here about what we have discussed so far?”
“No, William, we didn’t,” McCall agreed.
“This no doubt has to do with this dreadful accident Deputy-Mayor Lévesque has suffered,” Enright offered.
McCall nodded, both he and Frank remaining silent.
“And you have heard of my uttering threats,” said Enright, a statement, not a question.
Another nod came from the captain.
“Shall I go on with my monologue?” asked Enright, a rueful smile on his lips. “Very well. You may have seen me speaking publicly at times, on the news perhaps. If you have, or anyone who has ever seen and heard me fighting for anything I believe in… Well, let’s just say that I can be somewhat ruthless, quite obnoxious and extremely confrontational.”
He paused for a moment, shrugging his shoulders. “I guess it’s the Enright blood. Good at heart, generous to a fault and often uncouth to say the least.”
Another pause to take a sip of coffee then he continued. “I was angry at Mr. Lévesque in relation to this upcoming by-law which will affect the homeless and we had had quite a verbal spar at the forum on Monday. I should have simply ignored him at the restaurant but the brute in me would not have it. I saw an opportunity to annoy the man and took it. I insulted him, however cleverly I thought it to be, he retaliated and I retaliated back.”
He stopped and looked from McCall to Bakes and back to McCall again.
“Captain, I apologize for my stupidity in initiating the equivalent of a schoolyard spat. But, believe me, my threat was simply rubbish spewing from my lips. I wished no harm to Pierre Lévesque then and I pray that he gets better now.”
“Can you confirm where you were Wednesday morning at five o’clock?” Dave quietly asked.
Enright smiled a little sheepishly as he replied, “I was in bed at home with a friend.”
“Could you give us this friend’s name?” asked Frank. “This could all be resolved pretty quickly.”
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“Victoria Alstrom, a friend from New York,” William replied. “I can give you her coordinates before you leave.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “I would appreciate if you contacted her at work. She heads the Alstrom Foundation, in the same line of work as mine. I believe she would appreciate keeping her husband unaware of this whole mess.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Dave agreed. “Is there anyone else who can confirm that you were at home?”
“Edgar and Cecile Tousignant,” William replied promptly. “They see to running the house, cleaning, cooking and so on. They live on the premises.”
“Good enough,” McCall nodded. “One more thing, William. Do you or the Foundation own a Chrysler Sebring?”
“Why, yes,” Enright replied with surprise. “Foundation staff use it for errands and business travel.”
“What colour is it?” Frank queried.
“A medium blue, metallic,” Enright responded. “Why? Does this have to do with Lévesque’s accident?
“It might,” Dave confirmed. “Could we see the car?”
“Absolutely, as long as it’s here,” agreed William. “Come. I’ll confirm with Elena that nobody is out with it, otherwise it’s parked in the garage out back.”
~ ~ ~ ~
“I guess Enright’s not our man,” muttered Frank as they left the Foundation. “That would have been too easy.”
“Doesn’t look like it,” McCall admitted. “Although even with the alibis, the blue undamaged Sebring and the apologies, he could have hired somebody to do it.”
“Do you think?” asked Bakes.
“I sincerely doubt it,” Dave replied
~ ~ ~ ~
“Dave’s on the news,” Sandy called from the den as she increased the television’s volume.
“… you confirm if these two murders are related to the two downtown earlier this week?” a reporter asked.
“Unfortunately, we have nothing linking any of the killings at this time,” Captain McCall replied. “Obviously, we suspect that these two are related but we have no evidence indicating whether one or several people are responsible for these crimes.”
“I imagine that you’d like this to be the work of one person only?” a half-witted journalist questioned.
“What I would like is that such killings not take place,” McCall answered impatiently. “But, obviously, if we are to deal with them, we would prefer looking for one person rather than several…”
“So Dave’s got two more to deal with,” Chris empathized, towelling his hair dry.
“And apparently not much to go on,” Sandy added. “I hope they can make it up here this week-end. It’ll do Dave some good to take a break and get away.”
“I’ll call him tomorrow to confirm,” said Chris. “What time do you want to have dinner?”
“Not too late,” Sandy replied. “What time are you leaving?”
“Only later this evening,” answered her husband. “Jonathan’s going to call to confirm that it’s a go.”
~ ~ ~ ~
‘So the police would prefer knowing that they are dealing with only one killer,’ Allan mused as he watched the news. ‘Why not? Let’s get credit where credit is due.’
~ ~ ~ ~
“Rise and shine!” a voice called out loudly as the lights suddenly came on.
“Voyons, tabarnaque! Qu’est-ce qui se passe?" swore Étienne Morin.
He started sitting up in bed and was roughly pushed back by the large muzzle of what seemed to be a compact, silenced machine gun leaning against his chest. Next to him, his girlfriend whimpered as she stared at a similar gun trained on her.
“C’est quoi la joke, hostie!” Étienne swore again, as he slid backward against the brass headboard.
“Be quiet,” Chris ordered in soothing French. “You’re going to wake up the neighbours.”
“What’s going on?” Étienne repeated, looking wildly back and forth at the two black-clad men standing on either side of the bed.
Chris chuckled and asked Jonathan, “Tu veux lui dire?”
“Non,” replied Jonathan jokingly. “You tell him.”
“Hey, Sacrament!” Étienne cursed angrily.
“Do you look like you’re in a position to bitch at us like you’re doing?” Chris asked in a menacing tone as he pushed the gun muzzle hard against Étienne’s forehead.
“Non,” Étienne answered, his own tone much more subdued.
“Good, now shut up,” Chris said before turning to the girl. “Quel est ton nom?”
“Rita,” she whispered.
“Bonjour, Rita,” Chris smiled. “I’m sorry to disturb you like this but we have a few questions, ok?”
The girl nodded.
“Excellent,” Chris went on. “Étienne here, is he your boyfriend?”
Another nod.
“I see,” Chris frowned slightly. “Do you love him?”
A shrug, followed by another nod.
“But how much do you love him?” asked Chris. “Do you love him so much that you would die for him?”
“Uh, non,” Rita whimpered as she shook her head.
“Espèce de putin!” growled Étienne. “Oww!”
He rubbed his forehead where Chris had just jabbed him with the gun muzzle.
“Don’t call her a slut,” ordered Chris. “You don’t talk to your girlfriend like that. Jesus!”
He turned his attention to Jonathan and, speaking in English, said “I think he should be a little more subdued. I just don’t trust him.”
“If I give him a shot now, he’ll be out for too long,” argued Jonathan. “We won’t get to talk to him.”
“Zap him?” suggested Chris hopefully.
“Excellent,” Jonathan agreed as he pulled out his Taser and fired at Étienne.
As the probes hit him in the chest, he immediately began convulsing while Rita screamed.
“Shhh,” Jonathan warned Rita as Chris quickly bound Étienne’s ankles and wrists with plastic ties.
After a moment, the convulsing stopped and the glazed look disappeared from Étienne’s eyes.
“I feel better now,” Chris smiled and resumed in French. “Now Rita, we have nothing against you and don’t wish to hurt you.”
“Ok,” she whispered fearfully.
“But since we don’t know you, we can’t trust you,” Chris explained. “So we’ll have to tie you up to make sure you don’t call anyone.”
“Ok,” she sobbed.
“Is there anyone I can call tomorrow to come and set you free?” Chris enquired.
“Ma soeur?” she suggested hopefully.
“No problem,” Chris agreed. “Tell me her name and number and I promise to call your sister tomorrow.”
The girl recited a name and number which Chris entered into memory on his cell phone.
“Voilà! Merci Rita,” he said then nodded to Jonathan who pulled out more plastic restraints from his cargo pants.
He first bound her wrists which he then attached to the headboard with a second tie. He repeated the operation at her ankles, securing her to the frame at the foot of the bed. Finally, he pulled out a syringe, quickly injected a harmless tranquilizer into her arm and within seconds, the girl was out.
To that point, Étienne had remained motionless and silent since the stun gun shock.
Now he began to struggle and bellowed in French, “What about me?”
Chris pulled a handkerchief and a small roll of duct tape from a pocket inside his wind breaker and quickly gagged the immobilized man.
“Mon ami,” he smiled. “You’re coming with us. Let’s go visit your brother Philippe.”
~ ~ ~ ~
Philippe Morin was sleeping soundly in the farmhouse near Ange-Gardien when he felt a sudden, sharp sting to his chest followed immediately by massive painful muscle spasms in every inch of his body.
‘Am I having a heart attack?’ he wondered as he felt his legs being pulled together then his arms behind his back.
The lights suddenly came on and he was pulled roughly to a seated position with his back against the wall at the head of the bed. As he looked around, still in a daze, he saw two strangers dressed like commandos in black, and then noticed his brother, Étienne, propped up on a chair in the corner. It was strange, for Étienne seemed to have tape over the bottom of his face.
“Bonjour Philippe,” one of the commandos greeted him.
“Who are you?” Philippe asked as his head cleared some more.
One of them leaned in closer and studied him for a moment then leaned back as he spoke.
“Looking at you, you don’t really seem like a mean mother-fucker. I guess appearances can be deceiving.”
“What’s going on here?” asked Philippe, his mind now quite clear.
“What did you do to the farmer’s son?” the other man asked.
“W-what farmer? Whose son?” blurted Philippe, his eyes darting from one man to the other to his brother.
Looking at his partner, the second commando said, “You know, I never was sure about these Tasers before but I kind of like them.”
He walked over to where Étienne sat and Philippe noticed that his brother was actually securely taped to the chair. As the man reached his brother the other said to Philippe, “You haven’t answered my friend’s question.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Philippe insisted. “You must have us confused with somebody else.”
Philippe saw the commando next to Étienne pull a black, gun-like object out of a pocket, point it at his brother’s groin and pull the trigger. Étienne immediately began convulsing so much the chair thumped on the floor. His face turned bright red as tears smeared his cheeks. Although tape covered his mouth, he emitted a heart wrenching, animalistic scream.
“The son,” the man by Philippe repeated. “What did you do with him?”