In the Shadows, page 12
Damiano had fallen asleep, and Jeff surrendered. They slept for three hours.
The next morning, he watched Damiano race around the kitchen with a piece of kimmel toast stuck in her mouth. “What’s wrong with your eyes?”
“They feel dry. I don’t know and I don’t have the time to find out.”
“Don’t move!” Jeff ran to the bathroom and arrived with eye drops. “Tilt your head back. Good.”
“Am I not too young for drops? I’m in my early forties.”
“That’s stretching it. Lack of sleep will dry out anybody’s eyes. Take the bottle with you and come home at a decent hour! I’m serious.”
“I will or I won’t survive. Okay, I’m off. Say hi to Luke for me.”
“Will do.”
Driving to Crémazie, Damiano tried thinking clearly, but her mind was jumpy. She added depression when she saw the new pile of folders on her desk. She was able to walk around the main office with the folders because no one was in at six in the morning. She read carefully and commented or added suggestions. As chief, she should be meeting with the detectives who were on the cases, but she had no time as long as she stubbornly hung onto the Kane murder. Ninety minutes later she was still walking and annotating. Officer Doucette arrived and stood quietly inside the front door of the homicide room, waiting for her signal. Damiano wanted to rub her eyes, but rubbing would make them worse. When she finally saw Doucette, she waved him over and headed to her office.
She closed the door behind them, and lowered the shade. The Major Crimes Ds would be arriving shortly, and she didn’t want the detectives to make anything further of this meeting. The detectives knew the shooter was in the division, but some might not recognize him or Doucette. She made a new pile of the completed work and parted them both to have a good look at Doucette. She had originally planned to contact Detective Pichon of the SQ, learn what they had and use it on Doucette. She shelved that idea because she simply did not have the time. She’d fake her way through the review. “Sit down, Officer Doucette. Move the chair to the middle so I can see you. Do you know why you’re here?”
“Boucher.”
“Exactly. How long have you been on the force?”
“Six years.”
“Married?”
“Yes. My wife is expecting this month.”
“Nervous time.”
In spite of his discomfort, Doucette smiled, beamed. “Actually, I’m really excited. It’ll be the first girl born to the Doucettes in twenty-one years!”
“How long have you partnered with Boucher?”
“Three years.”
“We know that Officer Boucher contacted you.”
Doucette didn’t comment.
“I know you haven’t a demerit on your record. I assume you do not want to be implicated in this shooting.”
Doucette just nodded.
“Speak up, Officer Doucette.”
“This is my career. From the time I was a kid I wanted to be a cop. Do something that counted.”
Damiano quashed a smile, but she felt it. “Fine. I have two very important questions to ask you. Think about your career and your wife. You know the answer to both questions. Now, did the vic have a weapon?”
“He’s my partner. I’m no rat.”
“We traced your partner’s calls. You are already implicated. We have a witness. At this point, anything you tell me is off the record. Boucher will never know you spoke. The witness is being threatened. Anything happens to this witness bleeds out on you.”
Doucette’s face lost color. He slumped visibly.
“I warn you, if this witness is harmed, I’m holding you as a co-conspirator. Then you can forget your career. Is Boucher worth your wife and imminent new daughter?”
“I’d put my life on the line for my partner. All cops do.”
“Add your family’s welfare and your own job. I haven’t all day for you to recognize reality. Answer the question or face the consequences! You’re mumbling Officer, speak up!”
“Boucher is a good cop.” Doucette spoke with his head down.
“Did the vic have a weapon?” Damiano’s voice rose, determined.
Doucette stood up. “I can’t do this, Chief. What you’re doing to me is not right.”
“Boucher is out there and desperate.” Damiano rose as well. “If you intentionally withhold information, I will nail your butt personally! I am the head of this division and I order you to answer the question!”
Visibly shaking, Doucette, spoke haltingly. “Boucher thought he had a weapon.”
“Good. Did Boucher know the vic?”
“I don’t know. Can I leave, please?”
“Boucher will never hear what you told me.”
“I’ll know.”
Damiano rose, grabbed some empty folders and handed them to Doucette. “Carry these. We’ll walk out together. I don’t want you to draw any attention.” They left together. “Officer, take these to Place Versailles.”
Damiano met Pierre at the elevator.
“I have something,” Pierre said.
“Follow me.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Detective Matte knew to shut Damiano’s office door. He sat down, wired but weary. He nervously worked his knuckles until Damiano’s look conveyed her annoyance. “I have the name of Dylan’s last mark.”
“Mark?”
“That’s what I was, what we all were. This guy’s a well-heeled orthopedic surgeon. I went to his condo in Old Montreal last night. He’s married and has a family in Rawdon – convenient don’t you think?”
“That’s fast, Pierre. How did you …”
“Knew a bartender at Le Stud, secured a name, drove to the Jewish General and tossed the law at a young nurse who gave me his name and address. That was it. Made my way to Old Montreal and went calling. The doctor is usually at the family home on weekends. It so happens, last weekend, he was in Montreal, so he has no alibi. I set up an interview here at four this afternoon.”
“You were inside his condo?”
“Yes. I began with benign questions. He made the mistake of admitting he ‘knew’ Dylan, and I went for broke. Before you ask, I did reveal that Dylan was dead.”
“By the time we have a warrant to search his condo …”
“I saw my error as he was closing his door shouting. ‘Are you suggesting I’m a suspect?’ I read him his rights. He then refused to talk further without a lawyer. He may come in today and have his lawyer quash what he said last night, but I saw a sweater I bought for Dylan on his couch.”
“He might have disposed of it, Pierre.”
“If I have to out myself as a witness, I will, but I hope it doesn’t come to that. I hope our interview won’t necessitate my divulgence.”
“I have another matter I must discuss with you, Pierre, but let’s stick with Dylan’s murder for now. I can’t see how you’ll manage to evade discovery. We’ll soon have his phone records, and you’ll be there. This bartender knows you. Dylan might have mentioned your name to the surgeon. What’s his name, by the way?”
“Nathaniel Goldberg.”
“Oh no, I think I know that name. You said Jewish General?”
“Yes.”
“He operated on one of my neighbors’ sons who broke his hip in a hockey game. Pierre, are you really prepared to lose your badge? It’s your livelihood for God’s sake. Why can’t you stand back and feed me information as I did with Luke’s problem last year?”
“I have to be fully involved.”
“You have to understand that I am chief now. I must follow protocol. I can’t play with the rules. I didn’t ask for the title. In fact, I’ve realized that I don’t want to be chief. It’s all paperwork and responsibility. I’m not giving the job the time it requires. I’d rather be in the field, working the case with you. That said, I need you on the sidelines. I have no other choice. Let’s not argue about this. The situation is temporary. I’m interim chief. We’re beginning our tenth year, warts and all!”
“Toni, I don’t owe Dylan anything, but I can’t stay away from the case either. Call it self-interest – you know something about that.”
“Where’s your mother in all this? How’s she doing? Have you forgotten her?”
“No. I have seen Mom once. My sister keeps in touch. Mom’s trying to talk. She was actually up with a walker for a few minutes. My father won’t be at the hospital till nine. I’ll be with her at six tonight for a good long visit.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“My mother has always been on my side. Apart from her, I have you – a support group of two.”
Damiano smiled. “Will you set up an interview with Matthew Allen? How about three today? He’s a viable suspect. We need to see that show producer as well.”
“Velma. I’ll see to that.”
“We also have to discover if Goldberg was Dylan’s last lover, and who else might have wanted him dead. If he and Goldberg had split, where was Dylan living? We don’t even know that yet. Go work in the murder room. I’ll join you. Before you go, listen to another problem.”
Matte paid close attention as Damiano outlined the Boucher shooting. “What are you going to do?”
“What bothers me is that this DiMaggio is still at risk even if Pichon pulls Boucher in. He’ll get bail. I can’t have a patrol on her for longer than a week. If Boucher is remanded – he’ll be released at some point. Boucher thought the perp had a gun – accidental, right. DiMaggio was right when she said she was at risk because she witnessed the incident. He won’t forget her.”
“She’s not your responsibility. This is definitely the SQ’s jurisdiction.”
“In a sense, she is ours. She had to come forward. I told you Boucher knows where she lives. He called her mother for Christ’s sake! DiMaggio doesn’t want to testify. She’s not stupid.”
“She won’t have to if they believe he thought he saw a gun.”
“I think he dropped his throwaway on the perp.”
“Stay out of that. It’s their case. Call Pichon. He might have something that helps this witness. Let me get going on our case.”
“Stay below the radar, Pierre!”
“I’m trying.” Matte left Damiano in her office.
She stared into space, trying to figure out exactly what she’d tell Detective Pichon. His number was already on her phone and she tapped it.
“Chief, good to hear from you. I was hoping you’d call with some information that would move this case along.”
“Would you first give me a quick rundown of what you have so far?”
There was a moment of male pride, an abhorrence of taking any order from a female. Damiano smiled. “Alright, Chief Damiano,” Pichon answered, underscoring the title. “The weapon is unmarked, untraceable. Boucher’s throwaway can be traced, so our feeling that Boucher dropped that gun on our vic is not a certainty, probable but not certain. When I interviewed him, he was angry, said it was a good shoot, the vic had a gun. He left with a week’s suspension and a dire warning not to interfere with the investigation or face expulsion from the force. That’s it in a nutshell. One more thing. Boucher caught a lucky week. With the Orlando massacre and the terrorist attacks, this shooting never had much coverage. The phrase, ‘known to the police,’ signals to reporters the story is a DOA. The floor is yours, Chief Damiano.”
“He did interfere with the investigation, Detective. There was a witness to the shooting. Boucher tracked down her address, found her mother’s home and actually called her, asking to speak with her daughter.”
“That’s a direct violation of a standing order. We should fire his ass. Your witness?”
Damiano recounted DiMaggio’s account concisely. She omitted the information of Boucher knowing the name of the vic. She didn’t know exactly why, but she hoped her action would help protect the witness. Her husband’s words rang in her ears. You’re there to serve and protect. “Boucher could have easily mistaken the pointing hand for a weapon. It was very dark.”
Pichon was no fool. “What was the witness’s take?”
“She echoed that possibility.”
“By the way, the newly established bureau des enquêtes indépendantes, BEI, wants the case. I said we’d like to close it. What are your feelings? I need to meet with this witness.”
“You handled it – you should see it through. Haul Boucher in. He’s a real threat.”
“We’ll pick him up. Your witness?”
“She’s frightened with good reason. I implore you not to reveal to Boucher that this witness has approached us, not yet! He knows of her existence. He doesn’t know she has come forward. I want to keep it that way.”
“Have her come into your office tomorrow morning, Chief Damiano! You did say I was handling this case. It’s my prerogative to meet with her, isn’t it?” Seniority was a sticky issue with a division chief. One neither of them wanted to argue.
Damiano didn’t immediately respond.
“Chief?”
“As soon as I can, I’ll have her meet with you.”
“That’s unfortunate,” Pichon said piqued.
“I regret this.”
Pichon hung up.
Chapter Twenty-five
Damiano sat in her office feeling somehow disconnected from the world she knew. Matte had placed a proprietorial arm around Dylan’s murder, and that was after an initial order to back off, and stay off. She looked at the remaining files on her desk, sighed and began reading, this time with earnest attention. What she read caught her attention and moved her to further consideration. The work, especially the notes, was well prepared and presented. She continued with the next file. The work continued to impress Damiano and she decided she’d like to meet the officers who handled domestic violence. She missed lunch, reading.
Matte showed up at her door with sandwiches, egg and tomato, and two bags of her favorite chips – sour cream ripples. He also was carrying four coffees. “We need food. I’ve started prepping questions for all the interviews.”
“What are you on, Pierre? You know kindness rattles me.”
“This ‘chief” thing has derailed you from eating. The title is doing you damage.”
He was rewarded with a loud belly laugh from Damiano as she attacked the sandwiches. Matte on the other hand ate carefully, wiping his mouth with his serviette. With her mouth full and busy chewing, Damiano didn’t notice anything or she’d have had a comeback for Matte’s meticulous manners. When they finished, Damiano needed a bath, but settled for a sink. Matte stayed behind and cleaned up minutes before she returned, with just a hint of orange and lemon – from her freshly-applied Italian perfume. A whiff of freshness, he thought.
“Go back to the murder room, and I’ll join you. I have to make a short visit to the DV, Domestic Violence, and deliver these files.”
Matte didn’t question the time she was losing. He was beginning to sense a change in his partner. “Alright.”
Damiano descended one flight of stairs and walked into the large square room unannounced. By comparison to the Major Crimes room, it was choked with desks, boxed files and bodies. Detectives had their heads down, busy with files. Without warning, a detective at the far end of the room jumped to his feet.
“Chief Damiano!” All the detectives followed suit and stood at attention.
“No need. Sit back down. I just came down to say I’m impressed with these files. In fact, I am impressed with each report I’ve read.”
A wave of relief and smiles met Damiano. The Ds sat back down, except for the detective who’d first noticed her. He was strikingly tall and young with a mop of the reddest curly hair she’d seen in quite some time. At first, Damiano was her cynical self and took him for the sanctimonious bullshitter who did the least amount of work and spent most of his time on PR. This unexpected welcome had switched Damiano back on. The overwhelming blanket she’d felt lost beneath lifted. She called the detectives up to retrieve their file from hers and offered congratulations. To her surprise, Carrot Head was the third detective she called. You learn something every day, she thought.
“I’d like to remind you that this squad, apart from the uniforms, handles life-threatening situations every day. From the alarming stack of files, I see it’s a daily event. You’ve heard this all before, but take care of yourselves. Avoid risks, use vests. Lastly, don’t try to be heroes. Most heroes are dead. Keep up the fine work.” Damiano turned to leave.
Carrot Head was back on his feet. “Chief, this is the first visit we’ve ever had from a chief. We appreciate it.”
Damiano tried to conceal a show of emotion that men often took for weakness and cursed quietly for blushing before she left. This buzz was different, but it was good! Damn good until she realized that not one detective on the sixth floor of Major Crimes had congratulated her. In fact, Matte had castigated her. Her husband had seen it as another betrayal of family. The irony was she didn’t care because the job had begun to seem like a fit. Her goal now was to regain control of the Kane murder. She found Matte busy with notes.
“What do we want from Christine Dawson, the producer?”
“Take a look at the questions. Add whatever you think might be useful.”
“What we want from the producer is the whereabouts of Allen around the time of the murder.”
“Read on. She says she’s ‘one’ with the cast and audience. Perhaps she saw Dylan hook up with someone any Friday night or that night in particular. It’s almost two. Do you want me to fetch her?”
“Yes. I’ll wait here.” The boardroom used for questioning was a large, uncomfortable room. Suspects brought in there felt marooned, alone, hearing the echo of their words being recorded. And the room was intended to be intimidating. Velma arrived early and added nothing to her previous statement. Allen was friends with Dylan, nothing further.
