A Striking Death by David Anderson Page B

too.”
    “Okay, I’ll see you there.”

 
    twenty-nine
     
    Drumm parked the Miata carefully in a spot right at the edge of the lot. Even though he was late and this would mean a longer walk, he always tried to make sure the Miata was as far away from other vehicles as possible. So far he had been successful – there were no dings or scratches on the sides at all.
    The City of York Forensic Services building was a modern two story structure located a short distance from the Police Services offices. The morgue was in the basement.
    Drumm stopped suddenly on the sidewalk just in front of the revolving entrance doors. “Shit!”
    Startled, the woman behind him swerved at the last moment to avoid a collision. He apologized, and then thought rapidly. He had forgotten to take his blood sugar reading. That was Emily’s fault; she had driven it right out of his mind. And since she wasn’t coming home, there was Will to think of. He’d forgotten all about him. He would have to call Tom, his dog walker. Tom could be relied upon to help out at the last minute – Lord knows he had done it often enough before – but he usually preferred more notice. That call would have to be made right now.
    “Shit, shit, shit.” He started entering the numbers.

 
    thirty
     
    The Pig and Whistle was actually called The Cat and the Fiddle but for some reason, Drumm could never remember its proper name. He had a mental block in the beginning, he supposed, but now it was just a habit to call it that. For a Canadian pub, it was a decent imitation of the real thing, although he was sure a Brit or an Irishman would scoff at it.
    Located in a small downtown shopping centre, it was handy for those who worked and lived in the heart of the city. Drumm slid the Miata into a parking space several slots over from Lori Singh’s Prius and glanced at his watch. He was very late. He hurriedly left the parking garage and made his way into the pub.
    It was dark and quiet inside, the main reason he preferred to come here. He found his two colleagues sitting at a booth in the back. They were eyeing each other like a matador and bull, Drumm thought.
    “I owe you two, big-time,” Drumm said. “It’s been a bitch of a day. My apologies. Have you eaten?”
    “We were waiting for you,” said McDonald. “Been drinking a bit, though.” He grinned.
    “Let’s order then.”
    “I’m not all that hungry,” said Lori.
    “I’m not either,” said Drumm. “Just something light then.”
    The server arrived and the orders were placed.
    “Right,” said Drumm. “Dick, fill me in. First, though, tell me: what in God’s name are you drinking? Is that a Guinness?”
    McDonald grinned again. “It is. And not my first. Right, love?”
    Lori gave him a frosty look and took a sip from her club soda.
    “I was able to reach Levine’s brother. Frederick Levine. He lives in Alberta; he’s a retired accountant. He was upset but not overly so, I’d say. They didn’t have much contact, it seems. When the body is released, he’ll look after the arrangements.” McDonald sipped his Guinness.
    “Did he shed any light on Levine’s life? Any idea of who might want to kill him?” Drumm asked. His coffee had just arrived. He started in on his sixth cup of the day.
    “They hadn’t seen each other for years, and didn’t talk much. Frederick knew Daniel was gay – Frederick’s married, by the way – and he said that he’d known forever. He didn’t know about Arthur Billinger, though. He wasn’t much help.”
    “I didn’t expect him to be,” said Drumm. “Another dead end. What about Daniel’s phone records?”
    “Useless. No calls in or out last night, just three calls this morning from the nosy neighbour. Nothing out of the ordinary at all. I’ve checked all the people he called for the past month and all the incoming numbers. There’s diddly squat.” McDonald had some more of his Guinness. “I also looked into everything else I could think of about