The K Handshape (31 page)

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.”

CHAPTER FORTY

The forensics team was going over everything in the apartment although for now they had to leave Doris’s body where it was. Another constable was assigned to keeping watch over the crime scene and Purvis was discharged. Although it was after six by now, it was still dark outside and nobody had yet wandered out into the halls. We’d have to do something about the residents soon. I was anxious that they didn’t come out of their rooms to the sight of uniformed officers swarming all over the place. I’d asked Constable Purvis to get hold of the social worker who worked at the residence and she arrived just as Franklin, Bailey, and I stepped out of the interminably slow elevator into the lobby. She was a smart-looking young woman who introduced herself as Barbara Cheevers. She was visibly upset.

“I understand Mrs. Bryant was attacked. I find it inconceivable. She was so … vulnerable. She was quite confined to a wheelchair.”

“We’ve got to talk to all the old dears,” said Franklin. “So perhaps you can go along with Sergeant Bailey here and tell them they’ve got to stay in their rooms until we call for them. We can’t have them wandering around. You know them better than we do so you can suggest who shouldn’t be left alone, who’d be better off paired up with somebody else, and so on.”

Wow. I guess he’d been on a sensitivity training course since I saw him last.

He must have caught the look on my face because he smirked then continued in the same vein.

“If you wouldn’t mind, we need a list of next of kin who can be present during the interviews if necessary. We don’t want any strokes, heart attacks, panic attacks, or the like, so if you think they require special care, let’s get somebody down here right away. Maybe you could go over that with Detective Constable Bailey here before you start waking the old folks up.” He beckoned to me and took me out of earshot. “Christine, would you do me a big favour and take over some of the interviews? Bailey can head up the other half. I have a feeling the old folks will feel better if there’s a female in the room.”

I thought that was a good idea. Franklin was a big guy with too much gut hanging over his belt and a voice he had a hard time bringing down to a non-threatening pitch.

Strictly speaking, my role was that of a civilian but I was involved now and I’d stay as long as I could be useful. The important person was Grace. I’d made notes when she’d first called me, but I needed to get a formal statement from her. I went up to Dr. Cowan’s apartment, this time taking the stairs.

She had removed her hairnet and got dressed and she and Grace were having tea. At least I assumed it was tea as there was an elegant china tea service on the side table. Grace had her feet up on a hassock and some colour had returned to her face. I told her what I needed. She was fine with that but Dr. Cowan insisted on freshening up the pot, as she put it. By now, I was suffering from serious caffeine withdrawal but Edith had only tea, which I can’t stand to drink in the morning, so I accepted a glass of orange juice. Her apartment was the exact same layout as Doris’s but bigger and was definitely less cluttered. Over the artificial fireplace, in pride of place, was a large oil painting in a thick wooden frame. A distinguished-looking man in a dark formal suit stared soberly into the distance. Edith returned.

“That’s my husband, Charles. My grandson painted it from a photograph. It makes Charlie look far too serious, which he wasn’t at all, but Grant was so proud of it, I didn’t have the heart to criticize.”

She added the hot water to the teapot, poured out some very dark-looking tea, fussed over Grace, and then took the chair opposite to us. She folded her hands neatly in her lap and I realized she was probably much older than she first appeared. Sitting with a straight spine and quiet in that way suggested a much earlier generation.

Once we were all settled again, I asked Grace to repeat what Doris had said to her. I put my tape recorder discreetly on the coffee table.

“I consider myself released from my promise now that she is dead but I do hope, Miss Morris, that you will give her memory the respect she should have.” She paused. “I am sure you yourself would not be indiscreet but many might. She would be appalled if anything of what happened was reported in the newspapers, for instance.”

“Doris was a most private woman,” chipped in Dr. Cowan.

I wished I could reassure them both but I couldn’t do so with any sincerity. I knew from bitter experience how rapacious some media people were for a juicy story.

Grace gave her statement. Dr. Cowan listened quietly and showed no reaction, not from coldness but from years of professional detachment. It helped Grace with the difficult parts and she didn’t falter in her narrative.

We took a break while she had some more tea, which she gulped down thirstily.

“Did she tell you any details of this man? His voice? An accent of any kind? A smell perhaps?”

She thought for a moment. “No, nothing. She didn’t see him, I know that much, but she did say she smelled disinfectant on his hands.”

“We have found no evidence of a break-in. Do either of you know if Mrs. Bryant was in the habit of locking her door at night?”

Dr. Cowan answered at once. “She always locked it. Every so often some derelict has gotten in and they find him passed out on one of the couches in the lounge. All of the residents are warned constantly not to let anybody in that they don’t know but they are a trusting lot and think that a person must have a legitimate reason to be here, so in they come.”

“When was the last time this happened?”

“You can check with Mrs. Cheevers, the social worker, but I heard that there was an incident just last week. Mrs. Moseley, who is a night owl, went down to the lounge just after midnight. The television is better there. She found some man urinating into the fireplace. ”

“I hadn’t heard about that,” said Grace. “What did she do?”

“Pshaw, you know Henrietta Moseley. She gave him a good talking to and ordered him out.”

Dr. Cowan glanced over at me with a wry smile. “Mrs. Moseley’s husband was a professional soldier. She says she’s seen so much horror in her lifetime, nothing bothers her anymore. She must be close to ninety but she is fearless.”

“I’ve always considered her arrogant myself,” said Grace. “And not too intelligent but I suppose that can carry you through a lot of difficult situations.”

Grace delivered this rather sharp judgement in a cool sort of voice that made me think she was probably right and simply making an observation.

“Did anybody else see this man?” I asked.

“I believe Henrietta roused Mr. Desjardins, our superintendent. As I heard the story, the poor man was elderly and confused. Not in the least dangerous but the police did come and take him away.”

“And this man is the only one who has trespassed into the building?”

Dr. Cowan shook her head. “There have been at least two others that I know of. Mrs. Cheevers came on two young men one afternoon who had got in and were helping themselves to the lunch we used to put out for the residents if somebody had a birthday. They were quite brazen about it and said they thought we were a food bank, which was nonsense.”

“Were the police called that time?”

“No. It didn’t seem necessary. Mr. Desjardins on this occasion did his job properly and was very stern with them and said if he saw them again he would have them charged.”

Grace had been sitting listening to all of this and she suddenly broke out.

“Doris told me that one of the residents claimed a man entered her bedroom and, she said, ‘tickled her’ all over. You remember her, Edith. Her name was Salmino or Salamander or some such thing.”

“You mean Maria Salamonica. But she was suffering from Alzheimer’s. I don’t know if her complaint can be taken seriously.” She halted. “At least, I thought that until now. Oh dear, Miss Morris, do you think it’s possible the poor woman was also molested and we didn’t believe her?”

I hesitated but unfortunately it wasn’t out of the question. “I’ll follow up on it. Where is she now?”

“She went to the long-term care unit of Memorial Hospital but I regret to say that she passed away soon afterward.”

They were both looking at me and Grace seemed to have shrunk back into her shell.

“And do you know when this is incident is supposed to have happened?”

Grace thought for a moment. “Time melts together; I can’t remember. It was after Christmas.”

“It was shortly before she was transferred,” interjected Edith. “That would make it March or April of this year.”

“Did Mrs. Salamonica speak to you about what had happened?” I asked.

“Well yes, she did. She mentioned it more than once. But she was having other delusions. She was certain that her husband who had died many years previously was secretly trying to communicate with her. She became convinced he was being held prisoner by the government because he knew too much about a conspiracy to kill the Queen.” Edith’s calmness was starting to break down. “She saw me as a confidant, you see. She knew I’d been a physician and I think she had it in her head that she was my patient. She told me several times that she’d heard her husband sending secret messages through the radio.” Edith clenched her hands tightly. “When she said a man had come into her room, I’m afraid I didn’t take her seriously.”

“When you get old, nobody does,” said Grace caustically.

Edith flinched. She was already feeling dreadful and the comment didn’t help.

I jumped in. “It’s completely understandable why you didn’t believe her and frankly we don’t know if there is credence to what she said. Did anybody else know about it?”

“Everybody in the residence who would listen to her. She went on for days. It was very trying. Then she moved on to something else. The home care girl was stealing from her. That simply wasn’t true of course and the girl was very upset about it when she heard.” Dr. Cowan pursed her lips. “Believing that everybody is stealing from you is very common in dementia.”

“But she said this man had come in once only?”

“Yes. That is to say, she never complained about it again. But good heavens, how could I forget? I can tell you more precisely. I
had a dreadful toothache when she cornered me in the lounge that morning. I went to my dentist and had to have a root canal.” She got stiffly to her feet. “Let me check my calendar.”

She walked slowly into the kitchen. Grace drank some more tea and I could see her hand was shaking.

“Are you all right, Miss Cameron?”

“No, I’m not. I don’t walk these days, my eyesight is the pits, and I’m going deaf but God help me, if I lose my marbles, please put me out of my misery.”

Edith heard her. “Don’t be so silly, Grace. The one nice thing about losing one’s marbles, as you put it, is that you don’t know they’re missing.” She returned with a calendar in her hand with a picture of a bear cub on the front. “I was able to see Dr. Stephens on Tuesday, April 30, which means that Maria spoke to me on Monday about something that may or may not have happened on Sunday night, April 28.”

I made notes. There was a tap on the door and Edith went to answer it.

I heard Franklin’s voice. “Could I have a word with Detective Morris?”

I went out to talk to him, closing the door behind me.

“We’ve roused all the residents and been able to phone almost all of the family members so we can start interviews fairly soon. In the meantime, the supers have finally surfaced.” He grimaced. “I think they’re both still half-plastered.” He nodded in the direction of the apartment. “How’d it go?”

“Fine. Grace Cameron is an excellent witness. They told me something that may be relevant.”

Quickly I filled him about Maria Salamonica’s complaint. He frowned. “Doesn’t sound credible to me. If the old biddy was doolally, a man tickling her could have just been wishful thinking.”