A Striking Death (13 page)

forty

It did look like the Taj Mahal, Drumm thought, not for the first time. He was standing in front of the York District School Board building, holding his jacket closed with his hair blowing in the gusty wind. It was getting cold and the fallen leaves were crispy underfoot. The impression a visitor got when seeing the edifice in front of him for the first time was glass and towers. The architects were looking to create light and open space and clearly they had succeeded. Nestled into a remote wooded area of the city, the building was an impressive structure.

More than one cynical teacher had dubbed the building the Taj Mahal, a reference to the money spent to create an opulent environment for bureaucrats. Drumm had been one of these, questioning why so much money was spent on such a building at the expense of students.

He hadn’t been up this way for some time, although once he had been a frequent visitor. He put aside the thoughts of those unpleasant days when he had been an elementary teacher and entered through the heavy glass doors that were part of the main entrance. He strode confidently past the receptionist as if he knew where he was going, as indeed he did, and paused in the main lobby to look around him.

He’d once had a principal who said of the place, “Can you imagine working here? You couldn’t even pick your nose in private.” Drumm grinned slightly at the crudity of it, but the man was right. Most of the offices were right in front of him and they were like goldfish bowls. There were five or six floors and a couple of these were sunken so you could look down on the employees in their cubicles. Over the years, the people who worked in the place had done their best to create some privacy by using plants and shelves but he could still see lots of employees going about their business.

Drumm climbed the stairs to the third floor where Human Resources was located. This part of the building was a little more private. He showed his card to the receptionist and asked to see the Superintendent of HR. He had called ahead to let this woman know he was coming, and he was only kept waiting a short time.

A stout, middle-aged woman came out to meet him. “Janet Millbrook. Pleased to meet you, Detective Sergeant. Come this way.”

She led Drumm back to an office in the rear. It had a pleasant view of an evergreen wood out the window, and he was pleased to see the rest of the walls were solid. No one would be watching his every move. She waved him to one of the two comfortable-looking chairs and seated herself behind her desk.

“This is what you were looking for,” she said. She handed him a blue folder. “The personnel file on Arthur Billinger. It’s shocking what happened to him. Is there any other way I can help?”

“Did you know him personally?”

She shook her head. “Before my time. And, to be honest, I would know very few of the teachers who work with the Board right now. My job doesn’t allow me to get out into the schools.”

Drumm had expected this. “I’ll go through this carefully, of course. But he retired five years ago, correct?”

“He did, yes. He certainly could have taught longer but he chose to go as soon as he could.” Millbrook smiled. “Most teachers do.”

“I know,” said Drumm. “And what kind of record did he have?”

The superintendent leaned back in her chair. “You understand, I’ve just read through this file, like you are about to. He appears to have been an exemplary teacher. Good teaching reports from his principals, no black marks against him, and several letters of commendation. I couldn’t see anything unusual about him at all.” She shrugged helplessly. “Sorry.”

Drumm smiled. “Don’t be. I’m just clutching at straws at this point.” He leaned forward. “But I do need to talk to anyone who knew him well. It’s been a long time, I know, but whom would you suggest I contact?”

Janet Millbrook thought for a minute. “His principals, I suppose.” She leaned forward and extended her hand. “May I?”

Drumm handed back the employment folder.

Millbrook leafed through it until she found the page she was looking for. “Okay, he retired in June, 2006. At that point he was at Addison Road Public School; he’d been there for four years. Teaching FSL.” She looked up at Drumm. “That’s French as a Second Language.”

“I know what it is. I was a teacher myself. In this district.”

The Superintendent was surprised. Most people were when Drumm told them. “Really? How interesting. I guess you never came across Arthur Billinger?”

“It was a long time ago.”

“Hmmm.” The Superintendent was looking at the file again. “Before that he was at Prince Albert Senior Public. He’d been there for three years. And the school before that was Ditchburn Public School.” She looked up at him. “How far back do you want to go?”

“All the way, I think.” He leaned forward in his chair. “When you don’t know what you’re seeking, you have to look everywhere and at everything.”

“Alright, fine. This file doesn’t have the principals’ names at those schools at the time. But I can get them easily. Hold on a second.” Millbrook was writing down the names of the schools and the years, Drumm could see.

The Superintendent went to the door, opened it and went over to another desk. Drumm could see her talking to a young woman and passing over the paper. She was back quickly.

“It’ll just take a minute. We have that information filed separately.”

Drumm stood up. “I won’t take any more of your time. I’ll get the names on my way out.” He gave her his card. “If you can think of anyone else that might know something about Arthur Billinger, please call me.”

The printout that the young woman in the office passed over to him had the names of nine schools in all, the years Arthur Billinger had worked there and the names of the principals. Nine schools was a lot, he thought, but not all that unusual for a French teacher. It was one of the worst jobs to have in the elementary school system, and teachers often moved around a lot in search of a better working environment.

The list also showed the status of the principals; two of the earlier ones were marked deceased, the rest were retired, all of them. It was interesting to see that the principals from the seventies and eighties were exclusively male, and then became predominantly female. That reflected the change that had swept through the school system.

At one time, even though ninety-five percent of the staff of an elementary school was female, the administration was always male. Many of these men had no qualifications for the position other than their gender. In the schools, if there were male teachers, they would always be in seventh or eighth grade. The primary and junior divisions were the domain of the female teachers.

All of this began to change in the late eighties and nineties as school districts across Ontario began instituting gender equality. It became difficult for men to get promoted.

Out at his car, Drumm looked up at the sky which had turned slate grey. It had gotten very cold with a biting wind sending icy fingers down his shirt. He hurried to unlock the Miata and get behind the wheel.

Nine schools, seven principals. There was nothing for it but to start with the most recent and work his way backwards. But first he would call Lori.

She answered on the third ring.

“Where are you?” He could hear noise in the background.

“I’m having lunch at Danny’s. A bowl of chilli. It’s very tasty.”

“Get anywhere?”

Lori summarized her interview with Dean Barber. “How about you?”

“I have a long list of principals to interview.” He told her about the results of his visit to the School District offices. “I’ll track down the last one on the list and work backwards. Have to start somewhere.”

“You want me to help? I’m pretty much done here.”

“Eventually, yes. But first, when you’re finished your lunch, go and see Cameron Garmand again. I want everything he knows about Billinger, who his friends are and were, what kind of teacher he was, what his reputation was in the school, did people know he was gay – everything.”

“Okay. I’m just settling my bill here and then I’ll pay Garmand a visit.” There was a pause. “Nick? Make sure you eat something before you see that principal.”

Drumm smiled. He could hear the concern in her voice. “I’ve been here before, Lori; I’m not made of glass. But I will eat, I promise you.” He craned his neck to look up at the sky. “It’s getting damned cold out. Maybe I’ll have some chilli too.”

forty-one

Lori was mentally chastising herself as she drove to Cameron Garmand’s address. She shouldn’t have told Drumm to eat something. It wasn’t her place to nag him, and she had certainly never done it before. She wasn’t his mother. Or his wife. She knew he wouldn’t thank her for reminding him he had diabetes. She resolved to do better.

She found Cameron Garmand at his home in the suburbs. He lived in an older subdivision in an elegant two-storey house. Like many of the homes on the street, it was already decorated for Halloween, with a pair of pumpkins on the porch, and a scarecrow and bale of hay on the front lawn. A cornucopia and a collection of gourds and fall flowers completed the display.  Garmand opened the door to her ring and led the way to the living room.

“Something to drink?” he asked her.

“I’ve just eaten, thank you. You have a nice home here, Mr. Garmand.”

“Thank you. We’ve been here twenty-five years or so. Just the two of us now. Empty nesters – our three kids have all moved out.”

“You retired when, Mr. Garmand?”

“Same as Art – June, 2006. We went together.”

“And what school were you at then?”

“Addison Road Public School. I’d been in the intermediate division there for years. Art was my French teacher. I think I told you that before.”

“You were friends?”

“Colleagues would be a better way of describing it. Don’t get me wrong, we were friendly. But we didn’t see each much outside school when we were working.”

“And after you both retired? You had coffee with him regularly, right? How about other things? Golf, maybe? Or travel?”

Garmand was leaning back on the couch. He had his hands folded over his paunch. He looked completely relaxed in jeans and a sweatshirt, a man comfortable in his own skin. “No, nothing like that. Just the Tuesday morning get-togethers at Timmy’s. Usually I would pick him up because it was on my way.” He smiled. “I think I told you that too, didn’t I?”

“Anybody else at these coffee sessions? Or was it always just you two?”

“It would depend. There would almost always be others there. But sometimes it would just be Art and I.”

“And these other people…”

“Oh, other retired teachers from Addison Road. The regulars are Norma Williams, Annette Gilroy and Diane Pelletier. There are a couple of other ladies who show up occasionally.”

Lori was surprised. “You two were the only men?”

Garmand grinned. “Yes. Those women I just named? They’re tough old broads – their words, not mine – they scared all the other guys away.”

“But not Arthur Billinger, I gather. What kind of man was he?”

“He was quiet. He listened a lot and then chipped in with his thoughts. That’s one of the reasons I liked him.” Garmand smiled, thinking. “That came in handy with the Tuesday morning group. He would sit there and listen to all the gossip and chatter and when the time was right, he would lay a zinger of a comment on us. He would crack everybody up.”

An overweight woman with short grey hair came into the room. She was wearing bright pink track pants and a baggy white sweatshirt.

Garmand said, “My wife, Cynthia. Cindy, this is Detective Lori Singh.”

Cynthia sat beside her husband and inspected Lori curiously, the light glinting off her eyeglasses.

“You knew Mr. Billinger also, Mrs. Garmand?”

“I knew Art a little, yes. Not well, though.” Cynthia Garmand had a high squeaky voice; it sounded odd in such a large woman.

“Did you both know he was gay?”

The two Garmands looked briefly at each other. Cameron said, “We were aware, yes. Cindy hardly knew him but she and I had discussed it. Art didn’t advertise it but I knew he was gay for a long time. Years.”

Lori asked, “When he was teaching, did everyone at the school know?” She put down her notebook and pen and removed her jacket.

Garmand said, “Depends on what you mean by everyone. Most of the staff knew, I’m sure. Maybe some of the newer ones didn’t, but all the old hands, yes, definitely.”

Cynthia Garmand pushed herself off the couch. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got things to do. I’ll leave you two to talk school.”

“A moment, Mrs. Garmand. I need to ask, were you two both home Monday evening?”

Cynthia Garmand looked at Lori, then her husband. “Of course. Where else would we be?”

Cameron said, “She means, Cindy, can you vouch for me? Somebody killed Art Monday night, and she wants to make sure it wasn’t me.” He looked at the detective and smiled briefly. “Right?”

Lori smiled also. “Yes. But it’s just routine.”

Cynthia Garmand was looking shocked. “Cameron? Of course he didn’t! We were here all night. We watched TV and went to bed at our usual time. 11:30, that is.” She was staring at Lori. “Cam wouldn’t do something like that. How can you think it?”

Lori said, emphatically, “I don’t think it at all. It’s just routine elimination of the people who knew him. If we thought your husband was a suspect, we would have been here days ago.”

Cynthia gave her a doubtful look, glanced at her husband and left the room.

Lori said, “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to upset her.” She paused. “You met Daniel Levine, I understand. You know he was killed Wednesday night?” At Garmand’s nod, she went on. “Did you know he and Mr. Billinger were lovers?”

Garmand answered, calmly, “I was pretty sure, yes.” Before Lori could ask, he went on, “Art and I never talked about it. We never discussed his sex life or partners or anything remotely like that. Not when he was teaching, or when he was retired. We talked about school and politics and lots of other stuff but not that. But I knew he and Daniel were together. He talked about him and the store quite a bit. I put two and two together, shall we say?”

“When he was teaching, you said most of the staff knew he was gay. How about the kids?”

Garmand sighed and ran his hand back through his hair. “That’s a tough one. It’s hard to know with young people. I’d be pretty confident saying the vast majority of them would have no idea. Maybe a few would have known. But it would take an astute thirteen-year old to recognize him as gay. He was careful at school, professional, very…controlled. I think that’s a good word to use.”

Lori was getting tired. A picture of Arthur Billinger was beginning to emerge but it was slow going. She persisted. “What kind of teacher was he?”

“Tough. Old school. A disciplinarian. But fair. He had rules and he enforced them; the kids always knew what to expect with him.”

“Did they like him?” Lori leaned forward, intent.

“That’s hard to say also. As much as they liked any FSL teacher, I guess. That’s a tough job. Most of the older kids hate French and they often take it out on the teacher. But Art earned their respect. Most of them, anyway. And that’s all a teacher can ever do: reach most of them.”

“What about the ones who didn’t respect him?”

Garmand paused and contemplated her. “Are you asking me if I can name a student who would want to kill his French teacher? The answer is ‘no’, by the way. But it’s a bit far-fetched, isn’t it?”

Lori said, “Perhaps. But he was gay and Daniel Levine was his lover and they were both murdered. That happened. If it wasn’t a student, have you any idea who would want him dead? And not just dead, but hit over and over again. Anyone at all you can think of? Any of the teachers at your school, or the principal or any of the other staff? Any parents that were mad at him?”

Garmand was looking at her strangely. “God, I would hate to be a cop. Having to look at all kinds of innocent people as suspects.” He shook his head. “I can’t think of anyone at all. I’ve gone over this for days and I simply have no idea. He was just a French teacher, doing his job in the same boring old way as the rest of us. There’s no reason that I can think of why somebody would want to kill him.”

Lori had run out of questions and she had developed a tremendous headache. She stood up abruptly. She badly needed some fresh air. “Thank you, Mr. Garmand,” she said. “I appreciate your assistance.” She picked up her coat and said, “If you think of anything….”

“Give you a call. I know. You can count on it.” Garmand saw her to the door.