The Homeless Killer Read online

  “You got it, baby,” she replied, smacking him on the butt before grabbing her purse and heading out the door.

  Lee picked up their luggage, carried it into the bedroom and started unpacking. As he dumped the contents of the second suitcase onto the bed, the telephone rang. Looking at the display before answering, he saw that it was Joy calling from her cell phone.

  “What’s up honey?” he answered the phone. “Do you miss me already?”

  “Lee, come down to the garage,” Joy replied, her tone anxious and concerned. “Something happened to my car while we were gone. The grill’s all smashed, the bumper cover’s cracked and the front of the hood is dented.”

  Chapter 10 – Monday, July 10, 2006

  Since one of the subjects was the status of the investigation relating to Deputy-Mayor Pierre Lévesque’s hit-and-run accident, it had been decided to hold the press conference on the front steps of Montreal’s historic City Hall on Notre-Dame Street.

  Montreal Mayor Gérard Séguin had opened the conference by announcing its dual purpose, Lévesque’s accident and the recent murders of homeless people, followed by the introduction of the main speakers; Bernard Laforge, mayor of the Borough of Ville-Marie; Alain Savard, Police Director of the City of Montreal and Captain Dave McCall, head of the Montreal Police’s Special Homicide Task Force.

  Laforge had then taken the podium to speak of the deputy-mayor’s state of health which remained relatively unchanged. He was still in a coma with a “critical condition” status. It was not yet clear what, if any, permanent physical and mental damage might be present if he did survive.

  Next up was Police Director, Alain Savard who gave a brief update of the investigation into the Lévesque incident including a mention and description of the sought after Sebring and the efforts made so far with body-shops, car rental companies and vehicle registration records. He then urged anyone who might have the slightest bit of information to contact the Special Homicide Task Force.

  “On this note,” concluded Savard, “I invite Captain Dave McCall to speak to you regarding the horrible rash of murders afflicting the homeless population of our fine city.”

  “Thank you, Alain,” said Dave before addressing the mass of reporters and spectators before him. “Ladies and gentlemen, I thank you for your presence here today because the more people who are aware and involved, the more information is likely to be passed on to assist us in solving these hideous crimes and more importantly, stopping others from occurring.

  “Although we have issued a couple of statements over the last week, I will briefly run down the murders which have taken place. The first was on Saturday, July 1st when a homeless man was shot on Mount-Royal. He remains unidentified. The second killing took place late Monday night or early Tuesday by the Old Clock Tower when a homeless woman, known in the area, was beaten and died from her wounds. Victims three and four, two young homeless adults, male and female were strangled on Perry Island sometime last Wednesday night. Both victims have been identified. Early yesterday, a fifth homeless person, an unidentified male, was found strangled on the McGill University campus downtown.

  “Until yesterday, we had no information or evidence whatsoever to even ascertain if we were dealing with random killings by various individuals or if these murders were somehow linked. On yesterday’s victim, we found evidence, however vague, which indicated that we might be dealing with a serial killer. However, this has yet to be determined with certainty. The evidence left for us yesterday may have simply been the product of a copy-cat seeking attention and credit for the crimes of others. We certainly will continue our efforts to find the answers we need. I invite you, the general public, to come forth with any information which might prove helpful to catch this killer or killers and make our city a safe place for all its residents.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  “What do you want?” growled Allan as he watched the live press conference. “A signed fucking statement in triplicate? You want proof that I killed those useless pieces of trash? Fine, Captain McCall, I’ll send you proof.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Joy Chang walked into the employee lounge at Sleek’n’Fit where she worked as an aerobics trainer. She had just finished her nine o’clock session, an advanced group, and had barely broken a sweat. The hiking on Vancouver Island had certainly done its job in keeping her fit.

  The lounge was empty but the television was on, some kind of press conference at city hall.

  “Let’s see what’s been going on in Montreal besides my car getting smashed,” she muttered, still angry at the damage on the Sebring. She and Lee had guessed that it was probably the work of some kids who’d gotten into the underground parking. It wasn’t the first incident of cars being vandalized down there.

  She listened to the mayor make an opening statement and introduction of the speakers at the conference. He was followed by the downtown borough mayor who spoke of a hit-and-run incident in which the borough’s deputy-mayor was the victim.

  “Oh, what a shame,” she said aloud as she heard of the man’s questionable state of health.

  She moved to the refrigerator in the corner to get herself a bottle of water. When she returned her attention to the television, the police director had started to speak.

  “…vehicle we are looking for is a recent model Chrysler Sebring, silver-grey, with what we would expect is considerable damage to the front such as a broken grill and possible hood and bumper damage.”

  “Oh my God!” Joy gasped, oblivious of the water bottle that had slipped from her hands and was emptying on the floor.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Captain Dave McCall entered the small conference room and closed the door behind him. Already seated in the room were Senior Detective Joanne Nelson, Joy Chang and her husband, Lee. Both seemed visibly shaken.

  Joy had managed to jot down the telephone number displayed on the screen during the press conference. After contacting Lee who worked as a programmer analyst in Montreal’s Cité Multimédia, she called the police and spoke to Joanne Nelson. Nelson had gone to pick Joy up, arranged for a police tow truck for the Sebring and left an urgent message for Dave at the press conference. Lee Chang had driven over to the Task Force headquarters to join his wife.

  “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long,” Dave apologized after introducing himself. “I was still at the podium when Joanne left the message.”

  “That’s alright, Captain,” said Lee Chang. “I just got here a few minutes ago myself.”

  “Good. I thank you for calling and coming in,” Dave smiled at the couple. “Why don’t you tell us about the car, when you noticed it was damaged, that kind of thing.”

  “We’ve been in B.C. for the last two weeks,” started Joy with a shaky voice. “We got back home yesterday afternoon.”

  “Had you taken the car to the airport?” asked Joanne.

  “No, we’re just three blocks from the bus terminal,” Lee Chang replied. “It’s more convenient and cheaper to take the shuttle and leave the cars at home.”

  “Makes sense,” McCall nodded. “When did you notice that the car had been damaged?”

  “Not long after we arrived,” said Joy. “Around 2:30 or so. I was going out for some groceries and saw it when I came up to the car in the garage.”

  “Did you report it?” asked Nelson. “Did you call the police?”

  “No,” Joy shook her head. “This kind of thing has happened before, although not to us. Kids get into the garage sometimes. Cars have been scratched, tires deflated or punctured, headlights smashed.”

  “It’s still better than parking outside though,” her husband added, “And it doesn’t happen all the time.”

  “Had the car been broken into?” Dave enquired. “Was it locked?”

  “No, it hadn’t,” Joy confirmed. “It was definitely locked and I didn’t notice anything wrong with the locks either. They’re not broken.”

  “Nothing wrong with the ignition casing?” McCall persisted. “No loose
wires hanging?”

  “I don’t think so,” Joy replied hesitantly. “Not that I noticed.”

  “The thing is,” Dave explained, “If your car is in fact the one that was involved in the accident, somebody had to get into it, start it up and drive it.”

  “Maybe somebody found your key, honey,” Lee Chang suggested and his wife suddenly looked sheepish.

  “What key are you talking about?” Joanne queried.

  “I have a habit of leaving my keys in the car,” admitted Joy. “So I keep the valet key in a magnetic box inside the wheel well.

  “Does anyone else know about this spare key?” McCall asked.

  “Well, Lee does, of course,” Joy said, thinking. “My parents, my brother. Possibly a few friends.”

  “It’s just a formality,” Dave reassured her, “But I’ll ask you to think hard and provide us with a list of people who you know are aware of this key.”

  “S-sure,” Joy replied doubtfully. “But I really don’t think anyone in my family or friends could do something like this.”

  “I’m sure that you’re right,” Dave agreed. “As I said, it’s just a formality. For all we know, someone may have seen you pulling the key out at some point. We also have to consider that car thieves are a lot more sophisticated in their methods these days.”

  “The key should still be in place?” Joanne asked.

  “As far as I know,” Joy shrugged. “You can check since you have the car. Front left wheel well.”

  “We’ll look at that,” said Joanne. “Would you object to our taking your fingerprints? If we find the key, we can check it for prints that aren’t yours.”

  Both Joy and her husband nodded as she answered, “Sure, as long as you’re not arresting us.”

  “Not to worry,” McCall laughed. “Anything else you can think of?”

  “Not really,” Joy replied as Lee shook his head.

  “Alright,” said Dave as he stood. “Joanne will see to getting your prints and we should have the car back to you in a couple of days.”

  “I don’t really feel like driving it now anyhow,” Joy admitted shakily, “So there’s no rush.”

  “And please don’t forget to get us that list of people who knew about the key as soon as possible,” reminded Dave. “Obviously, anything else you might think of that could help, please give us a call.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Following another gruelling day, Borough Councillor Jacques Bédard parked his Lexus LS in the underground parking and headed for the elevator. As he rode up to his twenty-fifth floor condominium in the west tower of Le 1200 Ouest de Maisonneuve, he thought of the Pierre Lévesque situation with mixed feelings.

  On the one hand, Lévesque was a good man, an honest politician who had worked hard to get where he was and had done good things for the borough and the city. It seemed a shame that this man was now on life support systems in the hospital, his survival still touch and go according to the latest prognosis from the doctors. Bédard had seen Christiane, Pierre’s wife, while visiting the hospital over the weekend and the poor woman was in a shambles which had filled Bédard with sadness.

  On the other hand, Lévesque’s misfortune was Bédard’s silver, if not golden lining. Immediately, Mayor Laforge had transferred most of Lévesque’s workload over to Bédard and had already commended him several times to date on his efficiency. Already a highly successful attorney before diving into municipal politics, Bédard was an intelligent, educated, no-nonsense businessman who got things done. Late that afternoon, Laforge had informed Bédard that he would be announcing the councillor’s promotion to Acting Deputy-Mayor within a few days.

  He reached his floor and then his apartment. Before he could get the key in the lock, the door opened and his wife Yvette stood there wearing a short, filmy negligee, thigh high fishnet stockings and four inch heels. She held a glass of champagne which she offered him as she took his briefcase.

  “Hello, sweetheart,” she greeted him before kissing him hungrily. “How was your day?”

  “Who gives a damn?” he replied, admiring his wife’s delectable body through the flimsy fabric. “What’s the occasion?”

  “I called Michèle this afternoon and asked if she was busy tonight. She said she wasn’t so I invited her to come over.”

  “Wonderful,” said Jacques, looking forward to a passionate evening with the two women. “What time is she getting here?”

  “She’s been here for an hour already,” replied Yvette with a naughty grin. “I hope you don’t mind, darling, but we kind of started without you.”

  “I don’t mind at all,” said Bédard reassuringly. “In fact, why don’t you go pick up where you left off and I’ll join you as soon as I get out of these clothes.”

  Taking his hand, Yvette pulled him gently towards the living room and suggested, “Why don’t you join us immediately and we’ll help you get out of those clothes.”

  Chapter 11 – Wednesday, July 12, 2006

  “Mail call,” Tim Harris announced in a loud voice before dropping a letter-sized envelope on Dave’s desk.

  “Did you check it for poison or bombs?” asked a grinning McCall.

  “Are you nuts?” replied Harris, taking a couple of exaggerated steps back as he covered his face with his arms. “That stuff could kill me.”

  Dave continued his smiling as he slit open the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of folded paper. His smile disappeared as he began to read.

  “Whoa, Tim,” he said, not looking up from the letter. “Come here and see this.”

  Harris came in around the desk and started to read over the captain’s shoulder.

  My Dearest Captain McCall,

  I saw your press conference on Monday and was quite disappointed that you did not seem to have understood the clues which I left for you on Sunday. As you and your team are apparently unable to figure anything out without being told specifically, I will spell it out for you.

  I KILLED THOSE HOMELESS PEOPLE.

  You might not believe me yet so I will give you more detail:

  1. I shot that poor soul on Mount-Royal in the forehead from about two feet with a thirty-eight calibre bullet.

  2. I did not beat the sweet old woman at the Old Clock Tower. I hit her once on the back of the head with a weighted eighteen inch steel pipe.

  3. I strangled those two lovely young kids at Perry Island with my hands. The boy was in the process of relieving a bowel movement when I choked him. The girl was smoking a joint when I dealt with her. She ruined a perfectly good pair of black leather driver’s gloves with her sharp little fingernails.

  4. The unfortunate drunk at McGill (and I know he was drunk – I gave him that bottle of cognac) is the one with whom I left the two postcards and the Google Earth printout. Need I send you a sample of the rope with which I strangled him for you to make a match?

  I simply wished to clarify this as I do not want any copy-cats as you suggested trying to take credit for my work.

  I trust that this is satisfactory for you to understand that you need not fear of multiple killers out there murdering these poor, misunderstood people. There is only one – ME.

  Regards,

  THE Homeless Killer

  “Ok…” McCall said slowly, carefully putting the letter down. “Would you mind getting some gloves on and carefully making some copies of this? Then bag it and the envelope and send it for analysis and prints.”

  “Sure thing, Dave,” said Harris, holding back a smirk. “Do you want me to include a request to disregard your prints?”

  “Just mention that I handled the envelope and letter,” McCall gruffly replied before cracking a smile. “You might also want to mention that your prints are on the envelope as well.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  “Sorry I’m late,” Joanne apologized as she entered the conference room and took a seat. “I was at the SAQ on de Maisonneuve looking into those Rémy Martin purchases.”

  “No problem,” said McCall. “We were
just getting started. First off, anything new on Lévesque?”

  “The damage on the Chang’s Sebring was compared to Lévesque’s injuries, x-rays, etcetera,” announced Tim, “And it all seems to fit. Broken pelvis and multiple leg fractures line up well with the grill, hood and bumper damage. There was a dent on the roof of the car which corresponds to Lévesque’s shattered left shoulder. Unfortunately, there was no blood on the car to make it a hundred percent match but the lab wizards are willing to bet on this one.”

  “There’s also the key,” added Nelson, “Which was in its box in the wheel base. Excluding Joy’s prints on the box and key, there were other prints. Two specifically, one on the box and the other on the key, matched. The educated guess is a right thumb print based on where the prints were found. The print on the box was where one would place the right thumb to open the box. The one on the key was where someone might put their thumb on the head of the key to unlock the door or start the car. Other partially matching or unidentified prints were found on the driver’s side door handles, inside and out and on the steering wheel.”

  “Obviously, no matches were found in the systems anywhere?” guessed the captain.

  “The sage one is correct once more,” Nelson commented to her peers. “At least, we’ll have these prints to bust the guy when we catch him.”

  “True,” Dave conceded. “Did you get that list from Joy Chang yet?”

  “This morning by email,” Joanne confirmed, “But don’t get your hopes up. It consists of her parents, her brother and his wife, Lee’s parents and a couple of long time friends. I’ll check them out but I doubt it.”

  “Yeah,” McCall grunted. “Anything else? Savard and Laforge are giving me a hard time.”

  No one spoke for a few seconds then Frank interjected, “If they have any suggestions on just who we should be looking for, they could let us know. Maybe not Savard but Laforge knows Lévesque. Maybe he knows someone who had it in for the guy.”