Pete steered the car to the curb behind a marked squad car parked on Chebucto Road down from Connaught Avenue. He turned off the motor and said, “I want these bastards.”
I looked at him for a moment and said, “Yeah.”
I stepped out of the car and headed to the area with a large clump of bushes. A uniform cop was standing nearby to keep the curious away. He told us the lab guys left about fifteen minutes ago. After about ten minutes, we headed back to our car. I told the other cops to pack it up and head back to the shop.
Once I reached the lobby area, the Duty Officer waved me over. I made my way through the usual crowd of civilians, mostly men in suits, probably local businessmen, with the daily list of complaints about rowdy servicemen, loiterers and the like.
“What’s up?” I asked as I elbowed past a heavyset man puffing on a cigar.
The officer glanced at me while holding up a hand in front of the man next to me.
“Lieutenant Morrison wants to see ya,” he said, pointing upstairs. Tiredness etched lines on his face..
“Thanks.” I said. “Oh yeah. Let Pete or me know right away if any calls come in ‘bout a missin’ girl. Got it?” I said over the din. He nodded and I moved back to the stairs.
He gave me a curt wave, turning back to the person in front of him and said with practiced patience, “Now, you were sayin’?”
I reached Morrison’s office a few moments later and rapped on the glass panel as I opened the door.
“You wanted to see me, sir?” I asked, closing the door and stepping to the chair in front of his desk.
“Yes,” Morrison said.
James Morrison has been on the force for over twenty years, joining after the last show. Like me, he was a veteran of that mess. He started out as a patrolman back in the twenties and earned his way up the chain of command through good police work and intelligence. He made a bit of name for himself during the rum running days of prohibition. Now in his early forties, he’d held his position for the last ten years. His hair was greyer now than its original dark brown color and was beginning to thin. I held him in high regard.
“I just received word you got called out to the VG about a possible rape?” he asked in his usual direct, blunt way.
“Yes, sir. In fact, we jus’ got back.” I handed him the copy of Dr. March’s preliminary report as well as the ambulance driver’s report. He took them and quickly read them then passed them back to me.
“What’s your next step?”
“Can’t really do anythin’ until we get more information from the hospital. Accordin’ to the patrolman who found her, it looks like she may have been dumped there.”
“What makes him...?” he started to say.
“He said he searched the surroundin’ area but found nothin’. No purse. No items that might identify her. He also reported checking her out an’ discovered her genitals were exposed and bloody but there wasn’t any sign of her underwear anywhere.”
“Hm. I see. Anythin’ else?”
“He also reported he found what looked like drag marks in the grass which would indicate her attacker might have driven her there. Pete and I were up there an’ had a look around. There wasn’t much left to see by that time.”
“What about the lab people?”
“Been an’ gone. I’ll talk to Purcell later today,” I said. Leon Purcell was the lead man at the evidence laboratory.
“Hmm. Okay. I want to be kept up on what you find on this one, Robie,” he said, looking down at an open file on his desk.
“Sir,” I said, standing up. The meeting was over.
Pete was on the phone when I arrived back at my desk.
“Right,” he said into the mouthpiece. “Thanks.”
He stood up and grabbed his coat from the back of his chair and came to my desk
“That was the desk. A call jus’ came in from a Mrs. Irene Marchand at Thirty-four Stanley Street. She said when she went to get her daughter up this morning she saw the bed hadn’t been slept in. She’s pretty sure her daughter didn’t come home last night.”
“Right,” I said. “Let’s go.” We headed back to the car.
We arrived at the Stanley Street address fifteen minutes later. We would’ve been faster except for the constant traffic congestion. The house was typical of the area: a small two storey wooden construction neatly situated side by side with other similar houses, each with three steps rising up to a glass panelled door.
Pete pulled to the curb and we got out and went to the door of number 34. I rapped on the glass and waited with my ID in hand. A moment later a matronly looking woman with greying hair neatly tied up in a bun — she looked to be in her late forties opened the door. She wore a frock with an apron over it.
“Mrs. Marchand?” I asked, showing her my ID. “I’m Detective Robichaud an’ this is my partner, Detective Duncan.”
It was obvious she was worried about her daughter. I could see it in her eyes.
“Oh yes, please, come in,” she said, after a quick glance at my ID. She stepped aside as we entered the house. We stepped past her, removing our hats. Looking around, I saw she kept a nice home with comfortable looking furniture arranged neatly in the living room.
“Thank you for coming so quickly,” she said, gesturing us to sit down. “Do you have any news?”
“Not yet,” I said, sitting on the sofa while Pete, as usual, stood to the side with his notebook in hand.
“May I offer you a cup of tea?”
“No thanks,” I said. “You called sayin’ you think your daughter might be missin’”
She went and sat in the nearby Morris chair opposite me. “Well, I don’t know for sure if she is missing but, like I told the man on the phone, when I went to her room this morning her bed hadn’t been slept in and well...I got worried.”
“That’s okay. I’m a father, so I understand,” I said. “First, what is your daughter’s name?”
“Stella.”
“Why did you assume Stella didn’t come home last night? Is it possibleshe simply got up early an’ went out? Does she have a job to go to?”
“Well, for one thing, she normally doesn’t make her bed in the morning and, no, she doesn’t have a job. She’s just recently turned eighteen. She doesn’t need to work. We’re comfortably off, you see.”
“I see. Has she done this sort of thing before? Stay out all night.”
“Oh no,” Mrs. Marchand said, shaking her head. “Never. We’re fairly strict about that, especially these days with so many young men about.”
“Does she often spend overnights with any of her girlfriends?”
“No.”
“Okay. When was the last time you saw her?”
“After dinner yesterday.”
“So, she went out after dinner. Approximately what time, do you recall?”
“I think it was around six-thirty. She said she was meeting her friends and going for a soda.”
“Did she say who these friends were?”
“Probably Cathy and Millie. Those are her closest friends.”
“And where do they usually go when they’re out?”
“A shop on Islesville Street by Almon Street. It’s a popular hangout with the kids.”
“Have you had any trouble with her recently or an argument?” I asked again.
She folded her hands in her lap and lowered her head slightly.
“Well, as a matter of fact...yes. We had a couple of arguments lately,” she said. “I don’t think they were anything serious, I mean, I thought they were just normal arguments a mother and daughter have, you know.”
“What did you argue about?”
“I’ve noticed lately she seemed to be dressing up, trying to look older, that sort of thing. I assume she was influenced by the movies she’s been watching. I was concerned, you see, because the young men roaming the streets these days might get the wrong idea and, you know, try and take advantage of her.”
“I see,” I said. “And the
se girlfriends of hers, they also do that?”
“I don’t know. I would think so, since they are always together. I really worry about that because they’re younger than Stella.”
“Younger?”
he nodded. “Yes. Cathy is fifteen and Millie is sixteen.”
“Right. Do you have their full names and addresses?”
“Of course.”
She gave us their names and addresses: Cathy Foyle lived on Kaye Street and Millie Lancaster on Gottingen Street.
“One more thing,” I said. “Would you have a recent photograph of Stella you could let us have?”
“Certainly,” she answered, standing up. She went a side table under a window and picked up a framed photo. She came back and passed it to me. I looked down at the smiling face of a very pretty dark-haired young girl with an amazing smile and bright eyes.
“Thank you. I’ll return this as soon as we find her.” I took off the backing from the frame and extracted the photo then passed the frame to her.
“That’s her graduation picture,” she said. “Please find her. She’s all I have now. Her father’s ship was torpedoed last year. There were no survivors.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, standing up. “I’ll keep in touch.”
Back in the car, Pete started up the motor. “Where to first?”
I checked my watch. “Let’s try the hangout. If they aren’t there, then we check their homes.”
We got lucky and found both girls at the hangout, a small mom and pop shop at the corner of Gottingen and Almon Streets. They were dressed like typical young teenagers: sweaters, full skirts, bobby socks and loafers. Both girls had long brown hair tied in ponytails.
They were milling around the storefront with their friends. Looking at them, you wouldn’t think there was a war going on. They didn’t have a care in the world.
Pete pulled the car to the curb and shut it down. We got out and crossed over to the group of eight teenagers. I pulled my wallet out and showed the badge as I said, “We’re lookin’ for Catherine Foyle an’ Mildred Lancaster.”
They all stopped talking and eight sets of eyes focused in on us. Two girls looked nervously at each other briefly then stepped forward.
“Come with us,” I said, leading them back to the car.
“Okay, which one of you is Catherine?” I asked. One of the girls raised her hand. She looked scared.
“Okay. Hop in the backseat, both of you,” I said, holding the door open.
“Are we in trouble?” Catherine asked nervously.
“No,” I said. “We just want to talk to you ‘bout one of your friends.”
I closed the door and both Pete and I climbed onto the front seat.
“Now, tell us ‘bout the last time you saw Stella Marchand.”
“Stella? Oh no. Has something happened to her?” Catherine asked, sounding suddenly worried, her nervousness gone.
“I’m afraid she’s in the hospital,” I said.
“Oh my God,” Millie said. “What happened?”
“That’s what we are tryin’ to find out. So, tell us about the last night when you were all out”
It took several minutes but they told us that they had started slippng out after dark a few weeks ago and went down to where the sailors hung out. They thought it would be exciting and fun to be with people who didn’t think they were just kids. They even dressed to look older which drew a lot of attention from the young sailors who were eager to buy them sodas and burgers. When I asked if that was all they did both girls nodded, saying they never did anything with the men.
“So, what was different ‘bout the last time you were out?” I asked.
Catherine shrugged, saying, “Don’t know. We stopped and talked to this really cute looking sailor and his friend, that’s all. Like we usually did.”
“Where was this?”
“At Fort Needham. That’s where almost everybody hung out after ten o’clock,” Catherine said.
“That’s where a lot of the sailors from Stadacona hang out,” Millie added.
“But somethin’ had to be different this time. What was it?” I pressed.
“Well, I guess it was when this other guy, you know, the older one, offered us a drink, you know, alcohol.”
“I see. So, he offered you a drink. Then what?”
“Millie and me said no, but Stell, well she was in a rare mood and accepted. She was always taking chances. We tried to talk her out of it but then the one with the bottle started to dare her.”
“Okay, then what?”
“I started getting a bit nervous,” Catherine said. “I told Stell we should leave and go home ‘cause it was getting late. But the men goaded her into staying.”
“So, you both left leavin’ her there alone with two strangers?” Pete said sharply, cutting in.
The girls looked at each other for a moment then lowered their heads. I put a hand on Pete’s arm before he could let loose on them.
“Okay. Now this is important,” I said before Pete could say anything. “What do you remember ‘bout the two men?”
The girls looked at each again then Millie said, “Well, one was a sailor in our navy. The other one was dressed in workman’s clothes, not dirty or anything, but casual clothes.”
“And he was older too,” Catherine said, cutting in.
“This sailor, did you happen to see anythin’ that showed his ship’s name?”
They shook their heads.
“Okay. Can you describe these men? You know, how tall, color of their hair, approximate ages, tattoos, things like that?”
They spent the next five minutes or so giving us fairly good descriptions of the men.
The sailor was around five foot ten, slim build, dark brown hair and looked a little like the actor, Robert Taylor. They guessed he was maybe eighteen or nineteen years old. He had a patch on his uniform that looked like a pair of crossed flags. The other man was older, maybe around twenty-two or twenty-five. He was about the same height and build as the sailor, except he had lighter hair. Millie remembered he had crooked teeth and she thought one of his eyes looked like it was half closed. They couldn’t remember much more since they were with them for only about ten minutes before they left.
“Oh yeah, I think one of them had a tattoo on his arm,” Catherine said.
“Which one?” I asked.
“The sailor, I think. He had his sleeves rolled up.”
“Do you remember what it was?”
She shook her head. “Not really. Maybe a girl, you know, like the ones a lot of sailors have.”
“Okay, that it?” I asked. They nodded their heads in unison.
“Can you tell us what happened to Stell?” Millie asked when they finished giving us their statement.
I decided to tell them the truth. They were playing a dangerous game, playing at being older and flirting with these men. “She was assaulted.”
“Oh my God. Will she be okay?” Millie asked as she started to cry.
“Yes. But let this be a lesson to you. These men are under a lot of stress and when they come ashore, they are lookin’ for some way to let off the pressure, an’ some of them won’t see what you’re doin’ as innocent fun. Do you understand what I’m tellin’ you?”
“Yes, sir,” they both said at the same time.
“Good. Now off you go back to your friends, an’ remember what I said.”
They quickly scampered out of the car and dashed across the street to their friends.
“Think they got the message?” Pete asked, sounding less angry now.
“We can only hope. Let’s go,” I said, looking over my shoulder at the girls as Pete popped the clutch and eased the car down the street.
“So, what’s our next move?” Pete asked. “I mean, look at this place. It’s crawlin’ with sailors, soldiers and civilians. Any one of them could be our guy.”
I stared out of the side window at the men and women gathering around the base of the hill called Fort Needham.
Pete was right about it being a difficult task picking the two men the girls described but we had to go through the motions. I checked my watch and noted it was to early to go looking. We would come back later after dark when there would be more chances to find them.
“What about getting the girls to come with us an’ have them finger them for us?” Pete asked as he turned down onto North Street, heading for Barrington Street. “We could each take one an’ walk them through the crowd. Could get lucky, besides it’d cut our time in half.”
“Hmm, maybe,” I said. “I’ll think on it.”
“What’s to think about?”
“First, I don’t want to put the girls in any kind of danger, and second, we couldn’t do anything without gettin’ their parents involved.”
“So. Might be good if they knew what their kids been up to.”
“Not our call, Pete. But I’ll run it by the boss, see what he thinks.”
We continued down Barrington Street until we reached the Grand Parade Ground where Pete turned the car into the area where we parked. We got out and went inside; Pete went to the squad room and I headed for Morrison’s office.
Chapter Three
“Thanks for coming up,” Morrison said when I entered his office and sat down, giving him a funny look. “Didn’t you get my message?” he said.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Pete an’ I jus’ got back. We were up in the north end seein’ a woman who called in reportin’ her daughter, an eighteen-year old, didn’t come home last night. Pete and I went an’ interviewed her. From everythin’ she told us, I’m pretty sure the girl in the hospital is her daughter.”
“Good thinking. You tell the mother about the girl yet?”
“No, not yet. I got a picture of the girl an’ I want to check it against the victim to make sure before I tell her. We also found out there are two girlfriends she always traveled with. We located the girls an’ had a talk with them. Turns out they were with her the night of the attack. They gave us pretty good descriptions of two men they last saw her with.”
The Evil Men Do Page 3