We had known for a while that most of the moonshine was made outside the city, where we had no jurisdiction, in places like Terrence Bay and Musquodoboit Harbor on the eastern shore. These areas were under the jurisdiction of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, but like us, they suffered from a manpower shortage and a lack of resources to access many of these remote locations. The illegal liquor found its way into the city either by land or water, with water being the easiest route.
I was looking over the file on suspected local criminals who could set up an operation like the one at the docks. There wasn’t a lot of information in the file. Once I learned of Maurice Laurier, I ran it by the security people. They were able to provide some background on him:
Born 1890
Height/weight five foot five inches/195 lbs
Marital status unknown
Place of origin somewhere in Quebec, possibly France
Employment cook/chef
Criminal activity none reported
Criminal contacts none reported
Last known location Dartmouth, Nova Scotia since 1930
Just your average citizen, I thought, eying the list once again. Problem was, my contacts said they’d been hearing rumors of someone running a lot of the illegal businesses in the city: Prostitution, rum running, larceny, extortion, and now this problem on the docks. If this Laurier was the brains behind these operations, then he’d managed to set up with no apparent connections leading back to him. The only other item of interest was, that since arriving, he had established himself with a group of local swells, mostly politicians and some prominent businessmen.
“Robie,” Phil Mulroney said, breaking into my thoughts. He stood in front of my desk holding a brown manila envelope.
“Ah, Phil,” I said, snapping my head up. “Good to see ya again. Pull up a chair. Coffee? Tea?”
“Yeah, thanks. Tea would be great.”
“How do you take it?” I asked standing up.
“Two sugars and white.”
“Right. Powdered milk’s all we got.”
“I’m used to it.”
I went to the side table where we kept the small coffee urn and hot plate to boil water.
“Pete,” I said as I turned on the element and set the kettle. “This here is Sergeant Phil Mulroney, our contact with the intelligence boys. Phil, my partner, Pete Duncan.”
Pete had turned in his chair when Mulroney entered the squad room. He got up with his mug of coffee, pulled his chair over and, after shaking hands with Mulroney, sat down.
“Good to meet ya,” he said.
“You too,” Mulroney said.
“Hear you’re a Mountie?”
“That’s right.”
“So, how ya been enjoyin’ our fair city?”
Mulroney gave him a funny look before answering, “Can’t wait for my train ticket out of here. No offence.”
“Ha ha, yeah,” Pete said. “I hear ya.”
Mulroney passed a quick appraising glance around the squad room. “I miss the old days when I worked out of an office like this. You guys look like you’re busy,” Mulroney said, eying the stacks of files on our desks.
“Goin’ over everythin’ we got on known criminals to see if we can make any connections to the dead man,” I said.
“Any luck?’
“Not much. But I think we can narrow it down to one of two possibilities. One here an’ the other outta town in Terrence Bay.”
“That last one’s a bit out of your jurisdiction isn’t it?”
“Uh-huh. It’s in yours. But I think there’s a definite connection between them an’ the one here.”
“Who have you got in mind?”
“One we know for sure is a guy named Tomlinson. Lives in Terrence Bay. Runs a still down there. The other one, uh, well, we’re not so sure about. Name is Maurice Laurier. Lives over in Dartmouth,” I said as I turned off the hotplate. I grabbed the kettle and poured water into a teapot. “We’ve been hearin’ his name come up a few times lately.”
“Name popped up with us as well,” Mulroney said. “So how come you haven’t shut him down?”
I poured out a mug of tea, adding the sugar and milk powder then went back to my desk, laying the mug in front of Mulroney.
“No actual proof,” I said. “We’ve found traces that lead back to him but nothin’ we can actually tie to him.”
“He’s that good?”
I nodded.
Pete said, “If it is him, then he’s pretty damn clever and probably well connected.”
“Same everywhere,” Mulroney said with disgust. “Seems like they go hand in glove.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Pete said, agreeing with him.
“Yeah, well, we gotta live with it,” I said, cutting in. “So, let’s move on. I see you brought somethin’ with you. Anythin’ interestin’?”
“Not sure how much it’ll help,” Mulroney said, sliding the manila envelop across my desk. “It’s information we compiled in our investigations. We’ve been keeping tabs on everything to do with the war effort, especially as it concerns the convoys. We know there are German sympathizers, maybe even agents, living in Halifax and across the harbor, watching everything, and even working in jobs connected with port operations. And before you ask, we may know they’re here but that doesn’t mean we know where, or who, they are...yet. We’re working on it,” he said, anticipating some comment from us.
“Anyway, back to the matter at hand. In the course of our investigations we’ve picked up on a few things, mostly dealing with local criminal activity. That’s what’s in there. It might help.”
I opened the envelop and pulled out two typewritten sheets of paper. Scanning down the sheets, I saw several names I recognized immediately. One was Maurice Laurier.
“What’s Laurier’s connection to your investigation?” I asked, looking up.
“Nothing direct. Like I said, his name popped up on a couple of interviews we conducted.”
“In what connection?”
“Sorry,” he said shaking his head. “Can’t talk about that. Let’s just say that the people we talked to indicated they were connected to him.”
“Okay,” I said. “I don’t like it, but I understand. Can you tell us why you were talkin’ to these specific people?”
“No. But I’d say our mutual interests have a common, ah, meeting point.”
“So, I take it these names are of no interest to you?”
“Not yet, that’s why I’m giving them to you because we felt they would be of some use to you.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I said, passing the sheets to Pete. “We are familiar with a few of them.”
“Thought so. Well, if that’s it, I’ll head back downtown,” Mulroney said, standing up. “Thanks for the tea. I’ll keep in touch.”
I stood as well, accepting his hand. “I’ll walk you out.”
“No need, thanks all the same. See you.”
He shook hands with Pete then left the squad room.
“Seems like a nice enough fella...for a Fed,” Pete said after he left.
“What do you make of that list of names he gave us?” We both sat back down at my desk.
“No real surprises. But I thought it was interestin’ seeing who most a them were connected to.”
“Thought you’d pick up on that. Seems to confirm what we’re thinkin’ about who’s organizing the pilfering that’s been goin’ on.”
Pete nodded. “An’ there’s at least two names there that wouldn’t take much of a leap to tap for killin’ Slaunwhite. Real hard cases.”
“Yeah, I know, but I don’t think they’re involved with Slaunwhite’s death. They weren’t workin’ on the dock that night. We’ll keep with the list we got from the dock office. It had to be one of them that did the killin’.”
“Okay. What ‘bout this?” Pete asked, holding up the two pieces of paper.
“File it with the rest of the paperwork. I’m sure those names are connected somehow.
By the way, anyone in particular jump out at you from that list of names?” I asked as an afterthought.
“Yeah,” Pete said, going back to his desk and picking a sheet of paper then returned and sat back down passing the page to me. I noted that he circled three names: Ed Kline, Jack Wilson and Harry Jencks. I definitely recognized two of them – Kline and Jencks.
“Hmm, interestin’” I said.
“I’m surprised these guys got jobs on the docks, what with their records,” Pete added.
“If Laurier is runnin’ this, an’ has the connections like you think, then he has a long reach. I’m guessin’ he owns someone in the union and/or the docks. Maybe both.”
“You think maybe Cameron’s on the take?”
“Would make sense. He’s in a position to provide information and place Laurier’s people.”
“Wanna pay him another visit?”
“Yeah, but first let’s see what we can get on him.”
“Okay. Ya know it would be great if we could shut him down like we did with Kelly last year.”
“Yeah it would,” I said.
“What about slippin’ someone on the inside?”
“Like who,” I said. “There’s no way we can recruit anyone off the street.”
“What about one of our guys? You know, send him in undercover as a dockworker.”
“Hmm, somethin’ to think about,” I said. “I gotta head upstairs. I’ll float this idea to Morrison, see what he thinks. Let’s call it a day for now. Maybe you could poke around some a’ your contacts an’ see if you can get a line on those three names you circled.”
“Okay,” Pete said with a smile.
“Jus’ make sure you behave.”
“Hey...you know me,” he said with broad grin, holding his arms out in front of him
“That’s my point...I do know you.”
* * *
Mulroney arrived back at the headquarters building twenty minutes later. He stopped in at Michael Parks’ office on the way to his office.
“How did your meeting go with Robie?” Michael Parks asked when Mulroney entered his office.
“Pretty good. They seem like a pair of good cops,” Mulroney said, sitting down. “I don’t envy them and the job they got nowadays.”
Parks gave him a funny look.
“Short manned. They got a lot on their plate and I don’t think much will get done.”
“Oh, yes, I see what you mean. They seem to be managing so far. Lucky Halifax isn’t like Montreal.”
“Or Boston or New York,” Mulroney added.
“True. Were you able to pass along anything useful?”
“Maybe. Looks like we’re working the problem along parallel lines that will likely converge and cross over at several points. We may have a chance here to narrow in on those running this theft racket on the docks. He’s more or less zeroed in on one primary suspect, someone named Maurice Laurier. Ever hear of him?”
Parks shook his head.
“His name came up a couple of times in our investigations, so I had Montreal run a background check on him. They weren’t able to get much so far, other than he seems to have arrived in Halifax back in nineteen thirty or thereabouts. I think I’ll get in touch with Montreal again and get them to dig deeper. If he is dirty, then there has to be something on him somewhere.”
“Good idea. Now on to new business. Are you getting any closer to locating this possible agent?”
“No. The FBI alerted us to someone they suspected might be a German agent operating here. They’ve tapped into the Consulate’s phone lines and picked up on some unusual traffic a few months ago. The calls have been coming in from the Boston area. They think it’s some sort of code. So far, they haven’t been able to break it. Their Boston office thinks messages are coming in by shortwave radio. That was three weeks ago.”
“And they think these wireless messages are originating from here?”
“Looks that way. I have the communications people listening for any signals. So far they’ve only been able to pick up on some Morse code traffic, but it isn’t on air long enough to triangulate.”
“Hm. So there is an agent operating here?”
Mulroney nodded.
“Whoever it is must be working alone or we would have tripped over something by now. It’s likely this person has a radio set secreted away somewhere in the city. That’s our first problem, finding that radio. Our next problem is how the agent getting his information? The ships are easy, since anyone can see them in the Basin and alongside the docks. It’s their cargoes, especially the ones carrying military ordinance and personnel, that are the main concern,” Mulroney said.
“You are suggesting that this agent may have a network of informants,” Parks stated.
“Yes sir. It looks like it. It’d have to be a small one; no more than two, maybe three people, otherwise we would have zeroed in on them by now.”
“I see. And this agent?”
“I’m thinking that he, or she, has been here for a long time, since before the war, maybe even born here with family ties to the Fatherland.”
“Yes, I agree. I was thinking something along those lines already. We found connections Klepp used when he arrived. Now what about that other killing up in the Rockingham rail yard? Think there is a connection with Robie’s case?”
Mulroney shrugged. “No. I think Robie’s right about this being an isolated incident. I can’t see a way of making any connection to his other killing. I suspect that the killer might be this agent.”
“Why?”
“Well, for one thing, it doesn’t make sense, the killing that is. The victim wasn’t robbed, and he wasn’t important, just a watchman. And then there’s the location. It is an ideal spot to see everything in the Basin unobserved.”
“I see your point,” Parks said. “I’m surprised we didn’t catch that when we were checking out high risk areas for security breaches. I’ll be getting right on that...I’ll arrange for the army to post regular patrols in the area. By the way, where is the body now?”
“Robie sent it over to the ME at the Victoria General. The killing took place in his jurisdiction so until he gets what he needs we’ll let him run with it. He’ll sent me the post mortem report when he gets it.”
“Very good. Keep me posted,” Parks said.
Mulroney stood up. “Right. If that’s it for now, I’ll get back to work.”
Chapter Five
A cold north wind continuing to blow in from Bedford Basin had teeth in it. Ed Kline walked up Robie Street hunched inside his greatcoat; collar high up over his ears, his salt and pepper hat pulled down tight. He clutched a small canvas bag in his gloved hand. Goddamn winter, he thought, as he jammed his free hand deeper into the coat’s pocket.
He had been thinking about the night he killed Slaunwhite. It was the first time he killed someone. There was no remorse or guilt about it, in fact, he felt strangely okay. As far as he saw it, the act made his reputation. People would look at him differently now, see him as someone not to mess with. Maybe the boss would start giving him better jobs with more dosh, he thought, as he turned onto Leeds Street.
He was not looking forward to being cooped up away from his mates and the action downtown but, he figured, it wasn’t all bad. Word was this place was a posh whorehouse catering to the swells. The whores would have some class, maybe even some new tricks.
He finally reached the two story-wooden structure with a small front yard. The steps led up to a veranda that ran across its front. There was a glass panelled door with two panes of stained glass set into the upper half. He spotted a four door Plymouth coupe parked nose in beside the building. Place must be a money maker, he thought, as he rapped on the side of the door.
After a moment the door opened. A middle-aged woman stood there with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders.
“Well, don’t just stand there. I’m not heating the outside,” she snapped. “You Kline?”
“Yeah,” Kline said as he
stepped inside. He heard the door close behind him.
“Put your coat there,” she said, indicating a row of several brass coat hooks. “then follow me. I’ll show you your room and tell you the rules.”
“Rules?” he said, hanging up his hat and coat. “What fuckin’ rules?”
“First. Watch your mouth. I won’t have any of your gutter talk in here, understand? We have important people who visit. Next, you will stay put whenever our guests are here. You can use the loo on the upper floor and come down to the kitchen by the back stairs. I’ll bring you your meals that you’ll eat in your room whenever someone is here.”
She led him up a carpeted staircase to the second floor. He noticed there wasn’t anyone else in the house; no women. What kind of whorehouse was this anyway, he thought, when they reached the second floor? There were four doors and a window at the end of the hall.
“Where’re da women? I ‘eard this was a whorehouse,” he said as eyed her back, noticing for the first time that she wasn’t all that bad, especially her legs.
“That doesn’t concern you,” she said, curtly.
“So, what am I s’pose ta do cooped up ‘ere?”
“You can have the run of the house when no one is here. There’s a liquor stock if you need a drink. The loo is there.” She pointed a door across the hall.
“Yeah? How ‘bout if I wanna get laid?”
“That can be arranged. Satisfied?”
“S’pose so,” he said from inside his room. She stood in the doorway.
“Have you eaten yet?”
He shook his head.
“Once you’re settled, come downstairs to the kitchen. I’ll fix a plate for you. The back stairs are that way.”
“Yeah, okay, thanks.”
He looked around the room. It was nicely furnished with a comfortable looking bed set up beside the only window in the room. There was a small nightstand beside it with a lamp and an RCA radio on it. A three-drawer dresser sat against the opposite wall next to the door that opened onto a small closet.
Murder on the Docks Page 6