Murder on the Docks

by H. Paul Doucette

  “Okay, Benny.” Lennie turned and disappeared down the hall.

  The house was owned by Maurice Laurier. A big burly man in his fifties. He was the leader of a local gang of thieves and thugs. He also ran other criminal enterprises throughout the city, including a working partnership with a family in Terence Bay that ran a still producing the alcohol he peddled to the illegal ‘blind pigs’, speakeasies and bootleggers. He also had about a dozen women working for him out of some rooms on Kent Street and an exclusive honey pit up in the north end of the city. He also ran a legitimate business: a small fleet of trucks which he operated as a drayage business, transporting materials from local manufacturers to the dockyard and shipyard. He also used them to spirit away the contraband he pilfered off the docks.

  Lennie found Laurier standing at the stove bent over a large pot. One of the odd things about Maurice Laurier was he loved to cook and would frequently prepare meals for any of his men who happened along. Today it smelled like a fish chowder.

  “Boss?”

  Laurier looked over his shoulder before turning back to the pot. He scooped some of the broth and tasted it. “Hmmm, a bit more salt, I think. Whaddya want Lennie?”

  “Jus’ ‘eard from one a da boys did da pick up over at twenty-four dis mornin’.”

  “Yeah, and...?”

  “Somethin’ went wrong,” Andy said.

  Laurier put the ladle down and turned around.

  “They get picked up?”

  “Naw. They got away an’ delivered the goods.”

  “Then what?”

  “One a’ our guys killed da dock foremen, a guy named Slaunwhite. Accordin’ to Ernie, Slaunwhite suddenly popped up outta nowhere see, an’ one a da men inside da shed hit ‘im wit ‘is bale hook. Right in da neck, he sez.”

  “Who did it?”

  “Ernie sez it was Ed Kline.”

  Laurier stood quietly thinking for a moment. “What’d they do with the body?”

  “Truck took it an’ dumped it.”

  “Where?”

  “Greenbank. Ernie figures everyone got away clean. Even cleaned out any papers on the stiff ta make it look like he was rolled.”

  “Hmm. I’m guessin’ the cops found it by now.”

  “Yeah, I guess. Maybe they’ll reckon he was rolled an’ fought back an’ got ‘imself killed.”

  “Anybody know where Kline lives?” Laurier asked, changing the subject.

  “Dunno. I kin ask ‘round.” Lennie scratched his head.

  “Do that, and put the word out I wanna see him, got it?” The big man turned back to the stove. The meeting was over. Lennie turned and headed back to the front of the house.

  “Hey, Benny. Let’s go,” he said to his mate when he passed the front room.

  “How’d it go?”

  “He wants ta see Kline. We gotta find ‘im an’ let ‘im know.”

  “I hear he hangs out at the Lantern sumtimes. Fancies one a da skirts workin’ dere,” Benny said as they went to the street and got in the truck.

  “Okay. Let’s go.”

  “Shit. Means back on da ferry,” Benny said sourly.

  * * *

  It was mid-afternoon, and the weather hadn’t improved. The street and sidewalks were full of traffic. The memory of killing Slaunwhite haunted Ed Kline and drove him out of his room. He made his way downtown hoping the crowds would provide a distraction

  He managed to make it to the Green Lantern Canteen on Barrington Street, midway between Blowers and Sackville Streets. It was a popular spot, visited by military personnel and civilians alike. There was usually a line up to get in and today was no exception despite the crappy weather.

  Kline shoved through the dense crowd and found a spot standing at the far end of the counter. He eyed the young girl working behind the counter as he nursed his third cup of coffee. An empty plate lay on the countertop in front of him with a couple of stubbed out cigarette butts mashed into what was left of the ketchup on the side. He idly looked around the room at the press of men; soldiers, sailors and a few airmen. Most looked young and all seemed to be talking and laughing. The smell of heavy woolen greatcoats permeated the atmosphere and served to raise the inside temperature of the room.

  Ed straightened at the sight of a man working his way through the densely packed room toward him.

  Kline greeted the man warily, “Whazzup?”

  “Been lookin’ for ya,” the newcomer said, turning and waving at the girl behind the counter, signalling for a coffee.

  “Yeah? Why’s dat then?”

  “The boss wants to see ya.”

  “What for?”

  “Hey, whadda I know what for? I’m jus’ passin’ the word.”

  The girl, who looked to be about sixteen or so with a fresh complexion and sporting a ponytail, arrived and set a mug of coffee down on the counter. She moved away, both men eying her appreciatively as she left.

  “‘Eard there was a bit of trouble last night.”

  “Yeah? That’s what ya ‘eard, huh?” Kline said.

  “One a da guys was tellin’ us the coppers was over in Greenbank dis mornin’. Sez they found a body.”

  Kline took a deep pull on his Buckingham cigarette, then slowly exhaled a cloud of smoke.

  “So whadda ya goin’ to do?” the man asked.

  Kline slowly turned to look at him. “Go see da boss.”

  Chapter Three

  The unimposing Navy League building was on Barrington Street between South and Harvey Streets, not far from Cornwallis Park. The building had been commandeered by the Navy as its headquarters at the outbreak of the war. It also housed Naval Intelligence and, mostly unknown, the convoy planning department.

  I had occasion, several months ago, to work with the intelligence people there. I had been investigating another murder then that overlapped into their area because the victim had IRA ties, and the killer turned out to be a German agent. At the time, I worked with a young Navy lieutenant named Michael Parks. He proved to be an affable sort for an Englishman, and a capable man. We became friends over the course of the case.

  I called him earlier requesting a meeting. I needed background information on the pilfering situation on the docks beyond what we had in our files. I was reasonably certain he had his own people looking into the matter since many of the materials were of military importance. I also wanted to let him know about the new killing in the Basin. I was pretty sure it had nothing to do with the Slaunwhite business because of the location. My gut feeling was it might have something to do with the convoy assembling in the Basin, and if so, then that made it his problem.

  I used public transport mostly because of the constant traffic of trucks, cars and people clogging the streets and sidewalks, not forgetting the gas rationing. I managed to get on a tram car that had enough room to stand. When the tram reached the corner of Morris and Barrington Streets I got off and walked the short distance to the entrance of the Navy League Building.

  I glanced across the street at Cornwallis Square. It was crowded, as usual, with sailors and a few soldiers idly skylarking about. Some had bottles of beer or alcohol of some kind. Poor bastards, I thought. Nothing to do to occupy their energy and time, and for many, they had nowhere else to go. There were a couple of beat cops patrolling the edges of the park keeping a wary eye on the crowd. The city council and the police chief decided to let the men, who risked their lives once out at sea, have whatever ‘fun’ they could find, so long as they behaved themselves and weren’t a nuisance to the people or businesses in the area. I climbed the steps to the twin doors leading into the Navy League Building thinking the situation would only get worse.

  The inside foyer was exactly as I remembered it from my last visit.

  Two armed sailors wearing the distinctive white webbing of the Shore Patrol and carrying sidearms and British Sten guns, stood on either side of the main staircase. One eyed me suspiciously as I approached the large oak desk and the young WAVE sitting behind it, pulling
out my wallet to show my ID.

  “Yes, sir?” said the young fresh-faced Wave. A Women’s Naval Reservist, she wore two pale blue chevrons with an anchor over them on her sleeve.

  “Detective Robichaud for Lieutenant Parks,” I said, passing her my ID and badge.

  “Yes, sir.” She jotted my name along with the time in the ledger in front of her then reached for the phone at the corner of the desk and dialled three numbers. After a brief moment she spoke into the mouthpiece then hung up.

  “Lieutenant Commander Parks will be down momentarily,” she said with a smile. “You may sit there if you like.” She pointed to several thick leather chairs over against the wall.

  “Thank you,” I said, putting my wallet away. I went and sat down noting the Wren’s reference to Parks’ new rank.

  Five minutes later Parks descended the stairs. I noted he sported a third gold half ring between two full rings on his sleeve.

  “Robie,” he said with wide smile. “It’s been awhile.”

  “Yeah, it has,” I said, standing up, accepting his outstretched hand.

  “How have you been?” he asked, letting go of my hand.

  “Well enough.”

  “And Pete? Still with you, you know, not joined up?”

  “He’s good, and yeah, he’s still on the force. Congrats, by the way.” I nodded to his sleeve.

  “Thank you. My reward for that business last year. So. What brings you in this time?” he asked as we headed for the stairs. The two sailors snapped to attention as we passed.

  “I got another murder on my hands.”

  “I see, and how does this concern my department? Not another German, is it?”

  “No. The victim was a stevedore working the docks.”

  He gave me a funny look.

  “I think there might a connection to the thefts we’ve been hearin’ about.”

  “I see. We have people monitoring that problem on the docks and at the shipyards. However, I’m still not clear on how...?”

  “Let’s just say I’d like to compare notes,” I said, interrupting him. “Like I said, there might be a connection with the thefts and his death.”

  “I see,” Parks said, as we entered his office and sat down. “Coffee? Tea?”

  “No thanks, I’m okay.”

  “So, what exactly are you looking for?”

  “Well, I’m thinking that there must be some kind of organized operation going on. The thefts look like they’re too well planned. It’s more than some bloke stuffing a few items into his pockets, although I’m sure there’s a lot of that goin’ on. We got our ideas on who might be runnin’ the operation but don’t have enough evidence or proof to act. So, I was wonderin’ if your people have turned up anything we can use.”

  “Hmm, yes, I see your point. And you’re right in thinking we’re aware of this activity. I think it would be best to put you together with our man leading the investigation into the thefts,” he said, reaching for the phone. “His name is Phillip Mulroney. A sergeant with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police on detached service from Montreal. Good man.”

  “Phil, Michael here. Can you spare me a few minutes?” Parks said into the phone. “Right. Thanks.” He returned the phone to its cradle.

  “He’s been working on this matter for the last three months. If anyone knows something, it will be him. Ah, here he is.”

  The door opened and in walked the biggest man I ever saw. He was even bigger than Pete. I’d heard the RCMP had specific physical requirements for enlisting. He looked to be in his early thirties. Standing six-foot-three, he was built like the linebackers I saw on American football teams. He was dressed in his muftis.

  “Phillip Mulroney meet Detective John Robichaud with the Halifax Police force,” Parks said by way of introductions.

  I stood and offered my hand which he accepted. “Robie,” I said.

  “Phil,” Mulroney said, pulling a chair across and sitting down. “I heard you were part of that business last year.”

  I gave Michael a quick glance then said, “Yeah, we had a few moments, but it came out alright.”

  “A few moments!” Parks said, cutting in. “I’d say it was a bit more than that, Robie. No need for modesty. It was a good job done well.”

  “Thanks, but that was then.”

  “Right. Maybe you could give Phil and I a rundown on this business you’re involved in at the moment?”

  I quickly filled them in on everything I had to date: the body and where it was found; the blood stain discovered in the shed, and the indications of a vehicle, likely a truck, that was recently at the same dock and possibly at the scene where the body was found in the time frame of the killing.

  “So, you think the dead man was murdered on the docks and then moved to Greenbank?” Phil asked.

  I nodded. “Looks that way.”

  “And that there’s a connection between this guy and the pilfering that’s going on?”

  “In a nutshell, yeah. Mind you, I don’t have any sort of proof or evidence...yet. All I got so far is the dead body of a man who looks like he worked on the dock as a foreman; a suspicious blood stain and matchin’ tire imprints at the dock and where we found the body. Looks like they’re from a truck. It’s a workin’ theory,” I said with a shrug.

  “Hmm,” Phil said. He was looking at me intently as he listened. “Circumstantial...and slim, but I agree with where your reasoning is taking you. What pier did this happen at?”

  “Twenty-four.”

  He nodded slightly then said, “Yeah, we’ve been keeping an eye on those piers lately. Too many things been turning up missing. But this murder is a significant departure from how they’ve been operating. I take it you agree?”

  It was refreshing to talk to another cop. One who could see things from a cop’s point of view.

  “Yeah,” I said, nodding. “So far, the local villains have limited their violent activities to assaults, muggin’s and coercion. This’d be the first killing’.”

  “I take it your department has an idea who these people are?” Parks asked.

  “We have files open on a coupla people we’re lookin’ at. Both are locals with no apparent outside connections.”

  “Outside connections?” Parks asked, interrupting.

  “To the mobs in Montreal or the States,” I said.

  “Ah. Sorry. Go on. So why this killing?”

  “No idea,” I said. “But if I was to make a guess, I’d hafta say it was either a fallin’ out or, if the guy was straight, he caught them stealing the goods.”

  “I see. It seems a pretty drastic step to take, I would think. You know, dead bodies turning up and all that.”

  “True, but if they are runnin’ the thefts then they’re playing for high stakes.”

  Parks gave me another funny look.

  “The war. The materials they’re lifting probably have a military connection, maybe even a security ratin’. Even if they don’t, they’re still breakin’ federal law an’ if they screw up and we can nail ‘em, they’d be lookin’ at some real hard time, maybe even the noose,” I said, looking at Mulroney.

  “That’s right,” Mulroney said. “They would be charged under federal laws in place during wartime, like you say. Things like theft, looting and such, carry very severe penalties in time of war, especially if any of the materials have been classed as, ‘sensitive’.”

  “If you know these people why can’t you arrest them?” Parks asked.

  “I don’t have federal authority, so I can’t jus’ bring them in on suspicion alone. Still need evidence,” I said. “The Crown won’t give us the authority to arrest them without it. Then there’s their connections.”

  “Yeah,” Mulroney said, giving me a knowing smile. “Had similar problems back in Montreal. How bad is it here?”

  “More or less the same as everywhere I guess,” I said. “Lucky for us we know who most of them are, but again, we got nothin’ we can use against them.”

  “Typical. Th
ey’re greasy bastards right enough. I assume you’re looking for something and Michael here thinks I can help you?”

  “I’m guessin’ you’re gettin’ pretty much the same reports from the docks on the pilferin’ as I get. I’m also guessin’ that I don’t get everythin’, particularly if it has anythin’ to do with military cargoes.” I stopped a moment to watch Mulroney’s reaction.

  “Uh-huh,” was all he said, keeping his face expressionless. Definitely an experienced copper, I thought.

  “So, what I’m here for is to ask for any information you have from your investigations that you can pass on that might help my investigation.”

  After a few moments, Mulroney sat back a little. “I kind of figured it’d be something like that. You understand that what we have is classified and not for use outside.”

  “I do and I don’t want to know any of that, but I would appreciate anythin’ you’ve learned about who’s behind the thefts. I’m happy to share what I got in exchange. I figure the important thing is to shut them down, right? I think comin’ at them from two directions might give them a bit of worry. And I want those behind this killin’.”

  “I think I may have a solution,” Parks cut in. “Since I oversee this end of things and understand Phil’s concerns and your problem, perhaps it might be in everyone’s interests if we agree to join forces, so to speak. Perhaps attach someone from Phil’s section to work directly with the police, at least until your investigation is over. That way the RCMP can decide on the spot what to release. What do you say?”

  I looked at Mulroney who was looking at me. After a moment I nodded.

  “That’d work for me,” I said. “You?”

  “Happy to help,” Phil said with a smile.

  “Excellent,” Parks said. “That settles that, now who do propose to send in?” he asked Mulroney.

  “Me.”

  “That’ll be fine. Robie?” Parks looked at me.

  I extended my hand to the big Mountie. “Welcome to the Halifax Police Department.”

  He took my hand with a smile. “Glad to help. By the way, how many of you are there?”