Death by Association: Naya Investigates, #2

By Madona Skaff-Koren

Computer expert and former marathon runner Naya struggles to recover from a serious multiple sclerosis attack, and settles into a routine of daily workouts at the gym.

Frustrated by her lack of progress, she's in no mood for wheelchair user Larson Rask and his endless prying questions. Noticing that his legs still look muscular, Naya guesses that he's only been in the chair for a short time. She puts aside her annoyance to patiently listen to him. To her horror, a police Tactical Unit raids the gym and arrests Larson Rask – on three counts of murder. Was he grooming her to be victim number four?

Reluctantly, she's drawn into the world of sleuthing – tracking a ruthless serial killer who will stop at nothing to stay free.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Renaissance Press
• Release date: May 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393249344

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Naya released the leg press with a grunt, cringing at the loud clank that echoed through the gym. A quick check around her and she saw that everyone had politely ignored her. Using both legs, she barely managed to press eighty pounds. She was frustrated and angry at her stagnated progress and the fact that her weaker left leg could still barely press twenty pounds on its own. She stopped trying and took a couple of slow, deep breaths to relax.

She’d been coming to this gym for years because unlike those mega-size ones with dozens of machines lined up in military style rows, this one was small and comfortable. There were only a dozen machines grouped by type, with leg equipment in one area and arm and back equipment in another. There also was no blaring music, so you could listen to your own choice through ear buds. She always preferred working out with only her breathing or heartbeat to listen to. It helped her focus and relax. Unfortunately, today was full of listening to herself grunt with frustration.

After her multiple sclerosis attack during a marathon race this past spring that had paralyzed her, she had improved quickly. She’d graduated from wheelchair to walker within weeks. But she still couldn’t jog, never mind run marathons. She also still needed a cane more often than she liked and occasionally needed a walker when she over-exerted herself. The doctors had been impressed with her progress over the last four months. But recently it had stagnated, giving her an endless source of frustration. She made one more attempt at the leg press. The weights dropped as her groan harmonized with the clank.

Plus an extra groan when Larson rolled his wheelchair into the gym. She couldn’t help the irrational annoyance when she saw him. He was an okay guy, but somehow he just rubbed her the wrong way. Maybe it was because he seemed to be more interested in talking than exercising. Though to be fair, many people here chatted together in between reps. She preferred to concentrate on her workout and chat at the end. Everyone respected that. Except for Larson.

He’d shown up in the gym two weeks ago, invading her concentration and annoying her last thread of patience. Everyone in the gym, even Mrs. Fieldkirk who was pushing 90, was charmed by him. But Naya refused to be impressed.

Watching him out of the corner of her eye, she hoped that if she didn’t look at him then he’d go about his usual routine of visiting with everyone, then starting his own workout. With luck he’d leave her alone. Something was different today. He politely acknowledged people that he passed with a quick nod and smile, but aimed his wheelchair directly at her. Damn! Did he see her give him a side glance and interpret it as an invitation? She wanted to pretend that she was concentrating on her workout. But who was she kidding? Her leg muscles had abandoned her and she couldn’t even lift the weights a centimeter. Only one thing left to do. She smiled as politely as she could at Larson.

Good morning, he said cheerfully. Stopping close to the leg press.

Hi, she responded, keeping her voice as neutral as possible.

I see you’ve increased the weight from last week, he said, his voice pleasant his smile friendly.

No. She paused. She really hated people giving her false encouragement. It’s the same. To be honest, I haven’t been able to increase the weight in weeks. She put her feet down, struggling with her weaker left leg. She leaned back on the seat and just stared at him.

In the time I’ve been here, it just looks like you’re improving each day, he said.

I guess, she answered, keeping her tone aloof. Maybe from his perspective she had improved. Maybe the doctors were right and she was just impatient. All of that also made being patient with Larson a great challenge.

I suppose that’s the trick, he suggested. To come everyday. That helps you keep focussed.

Sure, it helps to have a routine.

I don’t mean to pry, but, he paused.

Ah ha, the inevitable ‘but’, signalling that he was going to pry.

You used to run marathons, right?

It’s not a secret. This was not something she really wanted to discuss with a stranger. She’d fallen in love with running as a child and after her first marathon she’d felt a sense of accomplishment. More than that, she’d felt complete. But after the multiple sclerosis attack, after she’d first realized that marathons were now a thing of the past, she no longer felt whole. As though a part of her soul had fractured. The first day she’d walked into this gym and someone had recognized her from the news, it had taken every ounce of strength and determination not to turn and bolt out the door.

Can I ask you, Larson began. Taking a deep breath, as though even he had finally realized how intrusive he was being. How did you manage to adjust from being so active to living with limited mobility? People say it happened so fast during the race. You were very close to the finish line.

Five kilometers. Despite herself, her voice trembled. She clamped her lips tight, fighting off the bitter feeling. That had been the first time that she hadn’t finished a race. She turned in her seat to fully face him and tell him to get lost. To leave her alone. Stop peeling back band-aids from barely healed emotions. When she looked him straight in the face, her planned response faded even before it had fully formed in her mind. He wasn’t being nosey. Or gossipy. He sincerely needed to know. For the first time, she actually saw him.

He was maybe in his mid to late thirties. In excellent physical shape. His dark blond hair was cut short and neat, his skin naturally bronzed, but not the even tan of some recent sun-filled holiday. He wore a t-shirt and she could see various tan lines on his arms, as though he frequently wore t-shirts or long sleeves mostly rolled up. This was a man who spent a lot of time outdoors – working.

He looked like an athlete. Broad, muscular shoulders weren’t uncommon in someone who used a manual wheelchair. But Larson’s legs were still muscular, very obvious even though he wore track pants. Since the leg muscles hadn’t had time to atrophy yet, whatever had put him in that chair had happened recently. The guy was probably just trying to figure out how to cope and adjust to his new life.

She retrieved her fold up cane, snapped it open, then held onto the leg press to help pull herself up and step closer to him. She lowered her voice to try to keep their conversation private – as private as it could ever be in a gym.

I’m sorry if I’ve been a bit short with you. Sometimes it’s hard... She stopped and asked instead, What happened to put you in that chair?

Oh, umm. Uh, Larson stammered, as though he hadn’t expected the question. I, uh, it’s kind of complicated.

That’s okay. When you’re – She broke off when she saw a man in a bulky windbreaker enter the gym. He was talking on a cell phone. Without putting it down he went to the reception desk and spoke to the young woman, Carly. Considering the gym was in the middle of a shopping mall, she thought that he could have at least unzipped the jacket. Shaking her head at the rudeness of not putting down the cell to talk to the receptionist, Naya returned her attention to Larson.

I was saying you can talk about it when you feel ready. She gave him a sincere smile of encouragement. Look, it took me a while before I accepted things and would actually leave my house.

That’s understandable if you had trouble moving around.

No, she laughed, realizing how silly it sounded now, I was too embarrassed to let people see me using a walker.

Over Larson’s right shoulder, in the far corner, she noticed a small commotion by the free weights where 90-something year old Mrs. Fieldkirk was working out. The receptionist was involved in an animated discussion, with a lot of arm waving and gesturing from the older lady. The argument was ended by a very dramatic and audible Shoo! from Mrs. Fieldkirk, who then picked up an impressive twenty pound weight and continued her bicep curls.

The receptionist looked back at the man in the windbreaker – still on his phone. He nodded. Carly gave Naya a strange, indecipherable look, then returned quickly to the front.

That’s when Naya noticed that all the other clients were huddled behind the desk. Puzzled for a split second, she soon felt an overwhelming sense of dread. She could hear Larson’s voice as though coming through a long tunnel and tuned back in.

...I know that it’s harder than you let on. To cope, I mean. And also – He stopped. Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?

She was about to say that something strange was going on when she caught sudden movement out of the corner of her eye. Several things happened at once. All taking barely a few seconds, but she caught everything as though watching a movie on slow frame advance.

The bulky jacket man put the cell in his pocket. He reached inside his jacket as he glanced at the door. He pulled out a gun. The door burst open. Six policemen wearing bullet proof vests stormed in. Shouting orders simultaneously.

Hands in the air!

Don’t move!

Hands up!

Heart pounding, Naya frantically scanned the room for the threat they were responding to.

Within seconds they’d swarmed Larson, guns levelled at him. One cop accidentally bumped her. Off balance, she started to fall in horrific slow motion. The same cop steadied her with one hand. Somehow kept his gun aimed on Larson.

Two cops yanked Larson out of his wheelchair. Threw him to the floor. Shocked cries from everyone behind the desk masked Naya’s own yell. They charged out from behind the desk but stopped short of advancing on the armed cops. One cop knelt on Larson’s back while the other frisked and handcuffed his hands behind him. If only she had her cell phone handy to record this blatant display of police brutality against a disabled man. The gym clients, as a group, took a couple of  hesitant steps – then stopped.

She wanted to somehow stop this horrible scene. She tried to take a step forward, but her legs trembled so much she couldn’t move. A deep breath and she pushed the weakness away and restarted her journey. No amount of determination could keep her steady at the sight of what happened next. She noticed that the other would-be rescuers had also stopped their creeping advance. A harsh silence overtook the room.

The police pulled Larson to his feet. He stood. Looked at Naya with an odd mix of emotions she couldn’t understand. Pleading? Regret? Her heart skipped a beat when his armed escort marched him out the exit on two very sturdy, very healthy legs.

Naya was sure her heart stopped altogether when one of the officers announced, Larson Rask, you’re under arrest for three counts of murder.

CHAPTER 2

What had started out as a routine day had morphed into something no one would believe. After Larson was taken away and before anyone had the chance to process what they’d just seen, a couple of officers took down everyone's names and addresses then left.

Alone in the disconcerting silence, everyone stood still. With the adrenaline rush over, Naya’s legs began to quiver and she sat down on the leg press seat before she became the centre of a new drama.

As though the others took a synchronised breath, they rushed to surround her. No one spoke. Everyone glanced at each other, mirroring the look of disbelief. Finally, Mrs. Fieldkirk broke the silence.

Talk about lazy. Guess a wheelchair is the best way to get out of doing half your exercises.

After a good laugh, the tension vanished and everyone spoke at once. Naya hoped that someone who’d paid more attention to Larson might offer some insight. But all she heard were the usual clichés.

He was so nice.

So polite.

Three murders. He didn’t look the type.

Ottawa doesn’t have serial killers.

She doubted that there’d be any useful information from anyone, so as soon as she felt steady enough, she stood up. No one noticed when she slipped into the change room.

She found her car in the parking lot and got in quickly. She reached for the clutch, as she’d done every time for the last month since she’d bought the new car. It was still hard to accept the fact that after the MS attack, her left leg never fully recovered its strength. She couldn’t guarantee that it would be able to handle the clutch. She’d had to accept that she’d never again be able to safely drive her five-speed BMW. So, she’d said goodbye to her beloved  car and reluctantly bought an automatic. The Mazda had sleek lines, was a beautiful shade of ocean green, and was fairly peppy. But without the five-speed transmission she still felt like she was missing out on the sporty drive.

On the way home, a whirlwind of unasked questions assaulted her. What game had Larson been playing? Why had he been in a wheelchair in the first place? Was it something as shallow as a good way to pick up girls? Or were his motives more nefarious – hiding in plain sight. Who’d suspect an invalid of being a killer?

Good thing the cops burst in when they did. They saved her from making a fool of herself. Trusting the wrong person. Again.

Ten minutes later she arrived home, pulled into the driveway of her Alta Vista area home, a two storey house with sky blue trim. Waiting for the double garage door to open, she glanced at the walkway leading to the front door and its intricate patterns of reddish brown and beige stone. In the summer when she’d first returned home from the rehabilitation centre, she’d tripped on several cobblestones on her way to the front door. She was glad that she hadn’t gone with her knee jerk reaction to replace the path with cement. The stones gave her home character. 

She checked the clock, feeling a little peeved to see that it was barely 7:30. Thanks to Larson she’d been cheated out of a good workout. She wouldn’t need a shower since there hadn’t been time to even think about breaking a sweat.

She slung her gym bag over her shoulder and first closed the outer garage door before she unlocked the door to the house. Maybe this time she’d reach the security panel in time to shut off the alarm. She had a minute and a half, which used to be plenty of time. Thanks to the number of times the police had responded to her home in the summer for real emergencies, she was positive that the entire force was on high alert. A couple of weeks ago after she’d accidentally triggered the alarm, an army of police had arrived ready to bust down her door to rescue her.

Maybe not an army – but the two squad cars with one cop each had looked pretty determined to save her. If she hadn’t seen them in time to tell them it was a false alarm, she’d have been in the market for a new door.

She unlocked the door quietly, then opened it slowly, stepped inside, and gently placed her bag on the floor. Within a millisecond, scrambling and thudding sounds drew closer. A six month old German Shepard skidded around the corner and thanks to the frictionless hardwood floor, crashed into the opposite wall. More cartoon-like running in place before he managed to change course directly for her.

As he got closer, she leaned against the wall in preparation for his full impact hug. This time he slid to a stop and sat down looking up at her in adoration, panting happily, tongue dangling out to one side. His ears still hadn’t decided which direction was their norm. Today both flopped to the left. Wow, it had only taken him five weeks to learn that a tackle was not the same as a hello hug. Teaching him simple commands such as sit, come, heel hadn’t been as challenging.

She patted his head, gave a gentle good boy, then hurried to the front door to  punch in the code, silencing the warning buzz. Minaki followed close on her heels, his tail wagging so hard his entire back oscillated back and forth. Now that the alarm was off, she had plenty of time for a proper greeting. She bent to scratch behind his ears vigorously.

How about we sit down and get comfortable? she asked him. Tail wagging, he waited patiently for her to sit on the bottom step of the winding staircase to take off her runners. Leaving them on the floor, she used the banister to help her get up. The sweeping staircase and the high ceiling gave the entrance a bright cheery look. It was the main reason she’d fallen in love with the house when she’d first seen it. Again, she was glad that she hadn’t given in to her initial self-pity and sold her home. The first time she’d managed to climb the stairs, all thoughts of trading down to a small bungalow had vanished.

She gave him another pat on the head, then they walked side by side to the family room, to the left of the stairs. He walked at her pace on the side away from the cane. He still hadn’t forgiven it for falling and startling him out of a comfortable sleep. It had been one time during his first weeks here. She’d been very careful since, but he still frequently glared at it.

Naya settled on the sofa, with her legs up. Once he saw that she had stopped moving, Minaki hopped on the sofa next to her, his head on her legs. He fell asleep as soon as his eyes closed. Guess greeting her was too much excitement for the six month old. She gently patted him on the head as she thought about the summer she’d had. After all the excitement was over and she’d told her parents about her MS diagnosis, they’d cut their retirement trip to Europe short and come to stay with her for a week. They’d been supportive as they helped her adjust to her new life. When they left, she’d found her home too empty. That was when she decided to finally fulfill a childhood dream. To have a dog.

She’d searched several shelters on-line, not expecting to see so many dogs looking for homes. Each one cuter than the next. Most photos were taken by professionals adept at highlighting the animals’ best assets. But even the best photographer couldn’t conceal the look of sadness and longing in the faces and eyes of many of the dogs. How could she choose only one? With her heart near breaking, she’d reached to close the site when the photo of a four month old German Shepard stood out from the rest. He’d looked at her with eyes that were too old for a puppy, as though he’d seen too much in his short life. And there seemed to be wisdom that came with age in there as well. She knew it was ridiculous to see all that in a photo.

A trip to the SPCA of Western Quebec, across the river in Gatineau, would help her decide. Once she saw this tiny, trembling puppy cuddled in the attendant’s arms, the decision was made. He’d found his forever home. With her.

The shelter didn’t have much information on him. He was one of a handful of stray dogs rescued from a northern community, Minaki. The attendant had given her a collar, leash, and a couple of blankets. The latter so that he’d have a familiar scent to comfort him. They’d also told her that it could take up to three weeks for him to relax and feel safe. Sure enough, for those first three weeks he spent the entire time sitting upright in the corner of whatever room she was in, his mouth clamped shut as though he was afraid to make a sound. He stared at her, watching her every move as though judging her. Or terrified that she might abandon him.

Three weeks to the day after bringing him home, he’d transformed literally overnight into a monster. She believed he knew that she’d fallen in love with him and would never send him away no matter what. Maybe it was a coincidence, but at about that same time, teething arrived in full force. 

She’d only lost a new pair of runners – which she’d never really liked much because of the boring, grey colour. And of course there was the tea towel – her fault for using it to wipe up the jam spill from the jar that had mysteriously fallen to the floor when she was out of the room. Then there was that book – obviously he was trying to save her from reading a badly written, predictable mystery. She’d figured out who the murderer was on page two. Not that she was making excuses of course.

She was luckier than a neighbour who had decided to keep their four legged friend in the basement because one of the dinner guests was terrified of dogs. He never gave it a second thought since his friendly boisterous bulldog loved the basement. But apparently not if he was alone. The going theory was that the dog considered himself in prison and tried to tunnel his way out by first ripping up the new vinyl flooring. The only good thing was that he hadn’t eaten the evidence, or a hefty vet bill would have been added to the cost.

In a preventative move, Naya was sure that she’d spent more money on a vast selection of chew toys, than on actual damage.

Also, after the three week adjustment phase, a new stage started. Every time she went out, no matter how briefly, she’d return to find him sitting by the door, wide-eyed and trembling. It would take several minutes of her patting and speaking to him in soothing tones before he’d calm down. It was as though he was afraid she wasn’t coming back. After a few sessions of that, she decided to start taking him everywhere – with the exception of the gym and a few other places. At first she was worried that he’d get so  spoiled, that she’d never be able to leave him alone. But in fact, he eventually grew more comfortable. Soon she was once again able to leave him alone.

She looked out the patio door at her backyard. The sunshine and warm October day beckoned, as did the trees with their magnificent fall colours. Soon they’d drop their leaves to prepare for their long winter sleep. Without her workout, she still had extra energy and knew that Minaki would enjoy spending the day at the Conroy Pit. A great place in the middle of the city where dogs were allowed off-leash on the many walking trails through the woods.

Well, Minaki, let’s not waste the day, she said, scratching behind his ears. How about a nice trip to the pit. She was always thrilled at the way he listened intently when she spoke to him, his head tilted. At the word ‘pit,’ he jumped off the sofa and stood ready, feet planted apart, ears now flopping to the right and tongue hanging out the left side of his mouth. 

When she stood up, she noticed that the answering machine on the table next to the sofa was blinking. Turning it on, she heard the voice of her friend and business partner, Travis Bloom. He was calling to see how she was doing on her first vacation in two years. Then he briefly filled her in on the business trip to Vancouver, as though she was on the line listening live. A west coast computer company had proposed a merger with their own, much smaller company, Assad and Bloom, Security Analysts. He still wasn’t sure about a merger. She put the volume up to listen to the rest of his monologue, as she headed towards the kitchen with Minaki, as always, close beside her.

The next message started and an eerily familiar voice made her rush back.

Hi Naya, it’s Larson Rask. Uh, from the gym. I know what you saw today, umm, well, it’s not what you think. Please, could you come down to the police station to see me? I’m begging you. I know you don’t owe me anything. If after we talk you can’t help, then I promise I won’t bother you anymore. Okay? Please?

She stared at the machine, not sure what to think.

Why would he want to see her? To post his bail? That would be up to his lawyer. Or Larson’s family. Not her.

At the gym, he’d kept trying to talk to her while she did her best to ignore him and concentrate on her workout. Had he been considering her for his fourth victim? Distantly, she wondered if she should be concerned. But he was in police custody and no longer a threat. Unless he got out on bail. Did they have bail for someone charged with murder?

How did he get her unlisted home number? The cell which doubled as her business line would have been an easier number to get. Maybe he actually was stalking her – sizing her up as the next victim.

She hit delete.

CHAPTER 3

After she’d deleted the phone message, she couldn’t curb the intense curiosity that nagged at her like some horrible itch she couldn’t reach. In an attempt to scratch that itch, she Googled his name. He was the owner of Rask Architecture Firm. No surprise that there was no mention about his arrest, considering it had happened barely an hour ago.

She called up the company website. It was started twenty years ago by his father, Gunnar. Following in his father’s footsteps, Larson went into architecture, but worked at another firm for a few years before taking over the company when his father died. She guessed that maybe Larson wanted to earn unbiased experience after graduation. She’d have to check that out later.

It was a mid-sized firm with six architects, including Larson, an interior design person, apparently a newly created position this year, and two office types. The only thing that stood out was the firm’s devotion to combatting homelessness. Each summer, the firm hosted a neighbourhood BBQ complete with a Bouncy Castle to raise money for the homeless. A tradition started by Gunnar Rask about fifteen years ago and continued loyally by his son, Larson. A quick on-line search confirmed that the moderately successful firm had an excellent reputation.

Maybe she’d delay the trip to the dog park and go see what Larson wanted. At that moment of indecision, Minaki left the kitchen with his head hung low. She listened to his nails clicking on