A Striking Similarity: The Ottawa Detective Series, #1

By Kevin Hopkins

The first murder was a tragedy.
The second was a mystery.
The third was an epiphany.

Detective Terry Millar doesn't believe in coincidences. As a criminal profiler, he's built his reputation on identifying patterns and perpetrators.
But he's never encountered a killer like this.

Millar and his team are being led on a macabre treasure hunt around the city of Ottawa, and they're desperate to find a connection between the crimes before the killer strikes again.

The murders bear a striking similarity to one another, which should make it easier for the renowned profiler, but the evidence seems to point in an impossible direction.
With every secret that's revealed, Millar is a step closer to realizing that nothing will ever be the same again.

If you like dark, witty crime novels that will keep you guessing, then you'll love the first installment of Kevin Hopkins' page turning Ottawa Detective Series. Pick up A Striking Similarity today.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kevin Hopkins
• Release date: Jun 2, 2020
• ISBN: 9781999226411

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

As he rounded the bend in the road, Millar’s watch beeped, chiming off another mile. He was right on pace for the night’s run, and things were feeling good. He hadn’t been sure how his run was going to go tonight after the long day at work, but so far he felt like he could go for hours. He pressed a button on the side of his watch to bring up the time. 1:12AM. ‘Man, that was a long day,’ he thought. He hadn’t left the office until just after midnight and probably should have gone right home to bed, but he needed his run—it helped clear the thoughts and images out of his head and helped him sleep. He’d been tempted just to go home and climb into bed, but he had convinced himself to put on his runners and hit the streets. Even if he only got in a mile, it was better than nothing.

Living in a quiet neighbourhood in the east end of the city, the streets were almost always empty at this time of night. Millar saw the odd light on through someone’s window and heard a car off in the distance but there was no one else out enjoying the cool night air. That was something he never really understood. Late at night and early in the morning were his favourite times to go for a run. He had the roads to himself and only had to worry about a stray cat getting in his way. Maybe it was for the best that no one else seemed to feel the same way as he did.

He turned again and started up a side street towards the north side of the city to get to the paths by the river, the best place to run. Another mile passed by and it was time to pick up the pace. He really enjoyed this part of the run, when his breathing got a little heavier but was still a nice even rate. He could feel his body fall into a rhythm—everything started to work like a machine. Off in the distance he could see a flash of lightning over the river, accompanied by a low roar of thunder. A typical summer storm was heading in from the west, snaking along the river towards him.

He turned on his headlamp as he got to the path. There were no street lights on this part of his run. He adjusted the light so that he could see about ten paces in front of his feet. If there was something in his path, he would hopefully see it in time to adjust his steps to avoid injury. This wasn’t the place to fall and get hurt. During the day, the path was used by a lot of people: office employees biking to work in their suits, retirees walking to their favourite fishing spots, stay-at-home parents out for a jog, pushing strollers and chatting with friends—but at this time of night, chances were no one was going to be coming by to give him a hand.

He checked his watch again and saw that he was running a lot quicker than he really planned to, but decided to keep the pace to try and outrun the storm. This was where he got to see what he was made of. Did he listen to his body and slow down, or did he shut out the negative thoughts and keep pushing? Back when he had first started running, he would always listen to his body and slow down—or worse, stop running all together. But he had learned over the years that the body liked to lie. If he continued, his body would realize it was actually willing to go along for the ride. Usually, anyways.

Another two miles down and he was beginning to breathe hard. There was a strong breeze coming off the water which helped cool him off, but he was still starting to feel like the pace was too much and he’d have to slow down soon. ‘Just keep it going for another half mile,’ he panted out loud. He dug in and set his sights on a bench in the distance, his finish line for the night. Another flash and roar. The storm was closing in. He narrowed his focus, ignoring the burn in his legs and lungs.

Somehow, he managed to speed up again for the last two hundred yards, running faster than he had in months. Possibly ever. He passed the bench and began to slow to a jog, stopping his watch as he did. Slowing to a walk, he cycled through the data on his watch, mentally comparing the numbers to his last run. He liked the feeling of competition, even if he was the only person in the race. Competition helped him push himself, no matter what he was doing.

Feeling his thighs begin to tighten, Millar turned back towards the bench to stretch out his long legs. He grabbed a small bottle of water from a belt hanging around his hips. As he took a sip, another flash of lightning lit up the sky. The storm was getting closer.

Resting his right hand on the back of the bench, he bent his left leg back, holding his foot, pulling it gently towards his backside and feeling a pull in his aching muscles. It was a good pull. He turned and switched legs. His right thigh was much tighter than his left—he couldn’t get his foot nearly as close to his body. Over the years, he had noticed a loss of flexibility. It was something he always said he would work on, but never did. ‘I’ll do it tomorrow,’ he would say, but that tomorrow never came.

He checked his watch again. Time to head home and try to steal a few hours of sleep before he had to return to the office. He began to retrace his steps to his car, finishing off the bottle of water as he walked. His phone rang.

Wiping the sweat off of his ear, he pulled the phone out of his arm holder. Looking at the number he realized his day was about to get a lot longer.

CHAPTER TWO

‘Right, I’ll meet you there as soon as I can. Give me about half an hour.’ Millar hung up his phone as he reached his car, shaking his head. He really wasn’t in the mood to return to work so soon after leaving, but what could he do? In his line of work, he knew he was on call all day, every day. He grabbed a towel out of a duffel bag he kept in the back seat, and then dug around inside the bag looking for a snack of some kind—anything would do for now. He always kept an assortment of post-run goodies to tide him over until he could get some real food, whenever that may be. Settling on a bag of trail-mix that wasn’t too stale, he laid his towel over the front seat and got in. Ten minutes later, he turned onto his street and pulled up in front of his duplex. Parking on the street was a compromise. His neighbours had complained in the past with his odd hour comings and goings, so he did what he could not to wake them up. He had enough issues, he didn’t need his neighbours upset with him, too.

As he started to open his car door to get out, the storm finally broke and the heavens opened, lighting up the sky like mid-day and dumping sheets of rain. ‘Well, won’t need a shower, I guess.’ Millar closed the door again and reached back into his duffel bag. Fishing around, he found the box of baby wipes he kept in there for just this type of situation. Contorting his body around the steering wheel, he peeled off his shirt and shorts, and gave himself a ‘hobo shower’ as he liked to call it, wiping away as much sweat as he could. He grabbed the shirt and suit he had been wearing for the past sixteen hours at work and maneuvered into it, struggling to be able to pull up his pants and put on his socks. His car definitely did not have enough room for someone over 6’5" to try and use it as a dressing room, although it had been a bit easier when he was ten years younger and thirty pounds lighter. ‘Good enough for now,’ he thought. Fastening his seat belt, he caught a whiff of himself and made a mental note that he needed to put some deodorant in his bag. The baby wipes helped, but they weren’t miracle workers.

Fifteen minutes after leaving home, he arrived at the scene, which had already been taped off. Three cruisers were parked alongside, lights still flashing, and an ambulance was pulling away—no lights, no siren. ‘Never a good sign for whoever I’m here to see,’ he said under his breath.

A small crowd had started to form outside the line of yellow tape, which stretched nearly twenty-five feet along the sidewalk, tied off to a stop sign on one side and a lamp post on the other. ‘Where did they all come from?’ he wondered. The streets were usually deserted at this hour, unless there was something interesting going on—then everyone came out of the woodwork. It was amazing how quickly a crowd could form. The wail of a siren travelled through open windows, signalling something worth watching was happening, and giving people something to gossip about over the next couple of days. He slipped his tie on and stepped out into the rain. Walking towards the crowd of people he could just make out the shape of a body under a blue tarp. It looked like it was someone sitting on the ground, leaning up against the statue of Terry Fox. As he got to the line, one of the patrol officers noticed him. ‘Make way,’ he said to the crowd, holding up the tape for Millar to crouch under. ‘Morning, Detective. Detective Penner is over by the body waiting for you.’

‘Thanks,’ Millar said, wiping the rain out of his eyes. ‘Do you have an umbrella in your car? I forgot mine.’

‘Sorry, sir. I can give you my rain coat if you want,’ the officer said, already starting to undo his jacket. Millar looked down at him. ‘That’s okay. I’m wet already,’ he said. ‘Not sure how well that would work,’ he thought to himself. Millar was at least a foot taller than the officer and more than a few pounds heavier. As he started walking towards the statue, another flash of lightning lit up the scene, casting menacing shadows.

‘Well, this is lovely. Get any sleep?’ Millar asked Penner. His partner had left the office shortly before he had, only hours earlier.

‘Just climbed into bed when the phone rang. I should’ve stayed in the office. You?’

‘Didn’t even make it home.’

‘I can tell. Maybe time for a clean shirt?’ Penner said, screwing up her nose.

‘Nice. Thanks. So, what’ve we got?’ There weren’t a lot of people in the major crimes unit that Millar would let talk to him like that, but he had been working with Sue since they were new to the force, so she got a pass.

‘Young Jane Doe, maybe twenty-five to thirty. Big gash on the back of her head,’ she said. Millar was already looking around, surveying the scene. He always liked to see what was around the body before seeing the body itself. Sometimes the scene could tell him more than the body could.

‘One of the local ladies?’ Millar asked. There weren’t a lot of prostitutes in the neighbourhood, but there were still a few holdouts. A decade earlier, there had been a lot more, but times had changed. In recent years, there had been an influx of new residents who took pride in their homes, something that hadn’t happened for a long time, and the ladies had no choice but to find a new corner to work.

‘Don’t think so. I don’t recognize her. She’s not dressed right either, too nice. Looks like a new dress, new shoes.’ Another flash and crack of thunder, this time much closer together. ‘Man, I hope we can wrap this up soon, this storm sucks!’ Penner said, brushing her dyed red hair off of her face.

‘Ha. Are you new? Right, any ID on her?’

‘Not that we found, but the coroner isn’t here yet so we haven’t been able to move the body. Dispatch put in a call, so she should be here soon.’ Millar had his back to her as he looked around and she noticed his collar was sticking up. Without thinking she reached up and started to straighten it.

‘Hey, maybe I wanted it to be like that. You know, like the cool kids do,’ he said, recoiling away.

‘Terry, the last time that look was cool was about thirty years ago. Probably about the last time you were possibly cool,’ she said with a bit of snark in her voice. She liked prodding Millar, and he usually took it well.

‘Ouch! You’re just a ball of fun when you’re tired, aren’t you,’ Millar said, turning back to her.

‘Well, at least for me it’s only when I’m tired. Come on, the responding officer’s over here, let’s see what he’s got,’ she said, patting him on the chest.

‘It’s going to be a really long night,’ he grumbled.

As they walked over to talk to the first officer on the scene, they heard a familiar voice call out from the other side of the tape.

‘Detective Millar, Detective Penner, what can you tell us about the body? Do you know who it is?’ It was Arden Wall, a reporter from the local news. Millar turned to face him and saw a cameraman beside him, trying to get a clear shot with his TV camera, while holding his coat over the lens to keep the rain off. Penner just kept walking.

‘Right now I can’t tell you anything—I don’t have any info myself,’ Millar said. He wasn’t a fan of Arden. The odd time he was actually home to watch the evening news, he hated watching Arden conduct his interviews. He got what his ex-wife called ‘interview face’—he would lift his chin, squint his eyes and just look like an overly interested rat. Almost embarrassing when he was interviewing someone important.

‘Come on, you’ve gotta have something for me. Man? Woman? Child? Age? Come on, I need to have some information to put out,’ Arden said as another flash of lightning streaked the sky. The following blast of thunder sounded like a cannon going off. Some of the crowd took that as a cue to start heading back home, or at least back to wherever they had come from.

‘As I said,’ Millar said, getting closer and looking down at Arden, ‘I don’t have any information for you. If we get anything, I will let you know, but don’t hold your breath.’ Millar turned away, trying to catch up with Penner.

‘You know,’ Arden quipped, ‘you always seem a lot nicer when you’re being interviewed about one of your books than you are in person.’

‘Just like you seem much taller on TV. Fine, you want a comment. Here you go,’ Millar started as the cameraman quickly focused on him. ‘I am wet, tired, I want to go home and I think you should do the same. Good night.’ He turned and walked off, leaving Arden and the cameraman to stare at each other.

‘Just keep filming, maybe we can get something’ Arden said. ‘I’ll go try and find us some coffee and see if anyone in the crowd is talking.’

CHAPTER THREE

By the time Millar had chased off the local news vultures and caught up to Penner, the rain had started to subside.

‘Millar, this is the responding officer, Constable…?’

‘Grant, ma’am,’ replied a young uniform cop, shifting uneasily from one foot to another.

‘So, you were first on scene? What time did the call come in?’ Millar asked, surveying the surroundings again.

‘Didn’t, sir,’ Grant replied.

‘What do you mean? Somebody had to call it in, right?’

‘Well, sir, I actually called it in. I had driven by around, uh…’ Grant pulled a notebook out of his pocket and flipped to the last page of notes ‘…12:25 or so, and I noticed a woman sitting by the statue. I didn’t think much of it at the time—I was heading to a call over on Fifth. Didn’t stay there for too long, someone had complained there was a suspicious character wandering around but it was just a harmless guy heading home after a few beers at the pub. Anyway, at around 1:45, I was heading back this way and I saw she was still there, so I got out to see what was up. When I shone my light at her, she didn’t react at all, just kept staring straight ahead. Didn’t respond to me asking if she was alright either. When I got to her, I poked her on the shoulder with my light. Nothing. I did it again and her head flopped forward and I saw the gash on the back of her head. That’s when I called it in.’

‘Didn’t you try CPR? I notice she’s still sitting upright,’ asked Penner, with a hint of accusation in her voice.

‘No, ma’am. I could see part of her skull was missing and, well, there was grey matter visible. I used to be a paramedic. I knew there was nothing to be done.’ Grant glanced down at his notebook to see if he had written anything else. ‘I did find it a bit strange that there wasn’t a huge pool of blood around her. With a hole that size, there should have been a lot of blood—at least a lot more than what there is.’

‘Well, it has been raining like a bitch. Couldn’t it have washed away somewhat?’ Penner asked as Millar wandered over to take a closer look at the body.

‘Wasn’t raining at the time, ma’am. It didn’t start until later.’ Grant confirmed from his notes.

‘New cops always write down so much,’ Penner thought. She remembered when she was new on the force, she would go through a notebook every couple of weeks. Now, she could make one last for a couple of months. ‘Could she have fallen somewhere, hit her head and stumbled here after the bleeding slowed?’ she asked.

‘Don’t think so, ma’am.