The uniform stepped past me and went to Jencks. He grabbed his arm and started to lead him out of the room.
“Ya cain’t do dis...I ain’t done nuttin’,” Jencks protested as he was taken to the cells.
“Have the duty officer make arrangements to transfer him to Rockhead,” I said to the cop as he went down the hall. “I’ll get him the proper paperwork in a few minutes.”
“Yes, sir,” the cop said, pulling Jencks along.
I knew I didn’t have any real evidence to make the charge stick, but Jencks didn’t know that. I was hoping that he’d change his tune while he sat in the cell letting the threat of a murder charge and a possible date with the hangman sink in. If I was lucky, I could shake a lot more out of him than identifying Ed Kline for the actual murder, namely, Maurice Laurier
Meanwhile, Pete had arrived at Rockhead Prison in the north end of the city. It was a black stone construction with high walls. It had originally served as the city’s prison for mostly non-capital crimes. These days it was used as a holding facility somewhere between the city jail and the penitentiary in New Brunswick and a smaller one on the other side of the city. Most of the inmates were serving short term sentences, usually up to six months as well as some inmates on lesser sentences that the jail could not accommodate.
Once he cleared the gate, he was taken into the administration building where he asked to see Butler. Ten minutes later, Butler was ushered into an interview room by a large burly guard who sat him in a chair.
“You got somethin’ to say?” Pete asked.
“This is horseshit an’ ya know it,” Butler said angrily.
“This why you wanted to see us? If so, then we’re done here. Guard.” Pete snapped, standing up. The guard moved towards the table.
“Okay, okay...keep yer fuckin’ shirt on,” Butler said.
Pete nodded to the guard who stepped back. Pete noted the slight smile on his face.
“I take it your memory’s come back.”
“Ya could say dat.”
“So? I’m all ears.”
“Whaddya wanna know?”
“Let’s start with your claim to witnessin’ a murder. Where did it happen and how come you were there to see it?”
“I wanna make a deal before I talk,” Butler said.
“Deal? What kind a deal?”
“I tell what I know, an’ I don’t get any charges or sent up.”
“That’s a pretty big deal,” Pete said, siting back, eying Butler.
“Maybe yeah, maybe no. But I think it’s worth it.”
Pete considered the offer. He had nothing he could stick Butler with or to justify holding him any longer. All he had done was come in drunk and say he had seen a murder. But it was obvious he knew something. Pete could only try and bluff the man into thinking he had more on him.
“Okay here’s the deal...you start talkin’ an’ then let’s see what’s it worth.”
“What kinda fuckin’ deal is dat, fer Chrissake.”
“The only one I’m makin’. Yer choice. Take it or leave it. But if what you got ta say pans out, I’ll do right by it.”
Butler sat considering the offer. Pete could see doubt cloud his face.
“Okay,” Butler said finally.
Pete took out his notepad and pen, opened it and set it on the table.
Butler leaned forward and said, “I got yer word you’ll do me right?”
“Yeah, ya do,” Pete said.
Butler began.
“I was offered some work strikin’ fer this trucker I know, ya know, hauling freight and such.”
“Name?” Pete asked, interrupting him.
“Ray Purcell. Got a coupla trucks haulin’ freight when he ain’t fishin’.”
“Where’s he operate from?”
“Da Cove.”
“Which one?”
“Purcell’s.”
“Okay. Go on,” Pete said.
“Well, he comes an’ gets me an’ anudder guy, I don’t know ‘im but seen ‘im ‘round the docks. We go down to twenty-four sometime after midnight. I kind a got da feelin’ we was pickin’ up a load ain’t got no papers for. No skin offa my nose. I’m gettin’ a double sawbuck so look da other way.”
“Okay, then what?”
“Outta nowhere dis guy appears an’ dats when all ‘ell breaks out.”
He hesitated, obviously remembering what came next.
“Go on.”
“Yeah...like I said, dis guy jumps out and then der’s an argument an’ next I see dis one guy pull out his cargo hook and drive it into the guy’s neck. Damnedest thing I ever saw. Dropped like a bag a coal.”
“You know the name of the man who attacked him?”
“Naw. But I seen ‘im and the other fella wit ‘im ‘round da boozers.”
“What happened next?”
“Dey dumped da body in da truck an’ we took off. I jumped off first chance I got an’ run like ‘ell.”
“Can you describe this guy, the one who hit hm?”
“Yeah, guess so. I ain’t likely ta fergit sumthin’ like that.”
Pete finished writing up his notes then put the notepad back in his pocket. Butler gave him the same description of Kline that he got from the woman on Gottingen Street.
“So? Whadda ‘bout our deal?”
“I’ll stick to my end. You did good. But for now, I’m gonna keep ya here for your protection until we catch these guys.”
“Whaddya mean?”
“You’re a witness to a murder an’ they might jus’ wanna make sure any witnesses can’t give them up, understand?”
“Jesus Christ. I ain’t thought a that.”
“Look, you’ll be okay in here. I’ll see to it you are put in a safe area away from the others an’ treated square.”
“Thanks. How long ya figure I gotta be here?”
“Dunno, maybe not too long.”
Pete stood up and called for the guard. He stopped at the Warden’s office on the way out and explained everything to him. The Warden agreed to help out and put Butler in a protected area.
* * *
One of the men Jencks had been talking with pushed his way through the crowd and headed for Inglis Street then turned down to Barrington. He went into a small Chinese restaurant and braced the small woman behind the cash.
“Phone,” he snapped. She quickly pointed to a phone on the wall near the rear of the eating area.
He went and lifted the ear piece off the hook on the side of the phone box and dialled.
After several rings, a man’s voice came through, “Yeah?”
“It’s me, Sampson. Git the boss.”
“Jus’ a minute,” the man said.
Sampson looked around the room. It was small with eight round tables that sat four and six people. At the moment, only two were occupied by three young sailors and couple of doxies. Several plates with partially eaten food sat on the table along with a large white teapot and several cups. He knew the teapot held some kind of liquor.
“What’s up?” Laurier said into his ear, snapping his attention back.
“It’s Jencks. The cops jus’ picked ‘im up.”
“What? Where?”
“Down at Mom and Pop’s.” That was the what the locals called the Gordons.
“Did they say why?”
“Not dat I ‘eard. Figured you’d wanna know.”
“Yeah, yeah. You did the right thing callin’. Thanks,” Laurier said then hung up.
‘Shit’, Laurier thought. Things were starting to get out of hand. What the hell did the cops know? Did they somehow finger Kline and Jencks as the men connected to the killing? He had to step up his plan to eliminate the problem. First thing, Kline. He was the most dangerous problem. Take him out and the cops would have nothing. Jencks would be next if he could get at him. Maybe they’ll cut him loose, he thought. As to any others, he could lean on them to keep silent, especially after word got out about Kline’s death. Gagnon would have to take
care of Kline right now.
He reached for the phone and dialled.
“It’s me,” he said when Shirley Halliday answered.
“Hi. What’s up?”
“Is your guest still up there?”
“Uh-huh. Why? Is it time?”
“Yeah.”
“When?”
“Right away.”
“Okay. I’ll call you when it’s done.”
“Right.” Laurier hung up the phone then stood up. He headed for the stairs and went up to the room where he had put Gagnon. He rapped twice on the door as he opened it.
Gagnon was sitting in an overstuffed armchair reading the daily paper and listening to the radio; a mug of hot coffee sat on the side table beside him. He was dressed in dark blue suit pants, white shirt with a black tie and suspenders; the suit jacket was draped over the footboard at the bottom of the bed beside his fedora.
“It is time?” he said over the top of the paper.
“Yes. I’ll have one of men drive you to where your first man is, then when it’s done, he’ll bring you back here.”
Gagnon stood up and picked up his travel bag, opened it and extracted a shoulder holster with a nine-millimetre automatic in it, and slipped it on.
“That looks noisy,” Laurier said, eying the gun.
“Not with this.” Gagnon pulled out a long metal cylinder and the gun. He screwed the cylinder onto the end of the gun.
“Ah. Good. Come down when you’re ready.” Laurier left the room, returning to the lower floor. He stopped by the parlor where a few of his men sat around.
“Jake. Go get the car and bring it round front. You’re goin’ to take our guest over to Shirley’s place. Then take him and Kline out to Rockingham. You know where. When he’s done his business, bring him right back here, got it?”
“Gotcha boss,” Jake said, standing up and going to the coat tree.
Laurier waited at the bottom of the stairs for Gagnon to come down. Jake was just leaving when he heard him on the stairs.
“Do you need anything? I can send a couple of my...” Laurier started to say.
“Non. I work alone. Have my money ready when I return.”
“Not a problem. In fact, it’s in the office now.”
“Bon.” Gagnon turned when he heard Jake blow the horn and headed for the door.
Chapter Eight
Phil Mulroney sat in front of Michael Parks’ desk with an open folder on his lap. They were reviewing the daily reports that came in overnight from the various military facilities in and around the city and port.
“I see here that RCAF Shearwater thought they picked a contact off the harbour,” Parks said, looking down at the latest report from the previous night.
“Yeah, but they think it was a whale not a U-boat. Seems they can appear the same,” Phil responded with a slight grin. “I suppose there’s some similarity.”
“Hmm. So, is there anything else on that murder up by Africville the other night?”
Mulroney shook his head. “Not really. I’m waiting for Robie to get back to me.”
“Good man there. But I think he might have his hands full right now with the other murder case. So, we’re at an impasse right now.”
“Not quite. As you know, we’ve been monitoring a number of civilians that have raised some red flags as well as watching out for new incoming new people coming here on the pretext of looking for work.”
“And?”
“We do random spot checks on a regular basis then pass what we get to Montreal or Ottawa for further investigation. In the last four months we red-flagged four people for a closer look.”
“Has anything come back yet?”
“Only on one of the four,” he said, flipping up a sheet of paper in the file. “A man named, James Coopers. Works as an electrician at the shipyards.”
“So why does this man stand out?” Parks asked.
“According to Montreal, back in ‘36 he took an extended trip to Germany to see family. His grandparents were German. Immigrated here after the last war.”
“An agent you think?”
“It’s possible. We have him under surveillance.”
“Do we know if this person has made any contact with someone local or outside the city?”
Mulroney shook his head again.
“We don’t have any evidence yet,” Mulroney said with a shrug. Our man on him did report that he went out late the other night, but lost him for a couple of hours.”
“What night was this?”
Mulroney flipped through the papers in the file again until he found what he was looking for.
“Damn,” he swore. “I don’t know how I missed that, it was the night the man was killed up in the Basin area.”
“Maybe we should pick him up for questioning,” Parks said.
“I don’t advise that, not yet anyway.”
“Reason?”
“If this man is a Nazi agent then he’s likely here to monitor the convoys and to send that information to the U-boats offshore. That means he must have a radio somewhere. We know that information is being sent to the German Consulate in New York according to our contact at the FBI. I think finding that radio is more important than arresting this man at the moment. Besides, if we can identify him and track him to where has his radio, we might also get our hands on his code books.”
“Hmm, I see your point. Best to shut down the communication link. The capture of his code books would definitely be a bonus.”
“That’s my thinking,” Mulroney said.
“Okay. We’ll keep with your plan...for now. Is there any more business to discuss?”
“That’s it. Oh, one thing,” Mulroney said, standing up. “I want to use Robie on this if possible, with your approval.”
Parks gave him a questioning look.
“There’s still the matter of jurisdiction. I have authority to deal with any outside agents but if there are any locals involved then he could come in handy with any arrests”
“Ah, then of course. I’ll leave that to your discretion.”
Mulroney turned and walked out into the hall and back to his office. When he reached his desk, he picked up the phone and dialled.
“Detective Robichaud.”
“Robie. It’s me, Phil.”
“What’s up?”
“Not much. Just thought I’d check in with you about that killing at the rail yard.”
“Not a lot more than what I already passed along. I did get a call from the ME. He found somethin’ interestin’ ‘bout the weapon used to knife the fella.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. He says that it reminded him of the type of knife the British Commandos use. Somethin’ about the shape or style of the blade. Says it’s likely not to be easily obtained around here.”
“Hmm, if his guess is right, then we are probably dealing with another agent, I think.”
“That was my thinkin’ too.”
“Listen, you have any time you can spare me? I need to discuss something with you.”
“Sure, when?”
“I’ll leave that up to you. I don’t want to cut into your time too much as I’m sure you’re busy with that murder the other night up in the Basin area. How’s that going by the way?”
“Not bad,” Robie said. “I think we might actually settle the matter in a day or two.”
“Good to hear. Think it’ll get you to your other suspect?”
“Lookin’ that way. Fingers crossed.”
“Great. Now back to meetin’ up, does sometime around say, six-thirty, sound workable?”
“Good with me. Where?”
“How about the Officer’s Mess. We can get a decent drink there and a good meal.”
“Sounds good but I’ll skip eatin’ there, thanks all the same. The wife got lucky and managed to lay her hands on a pound of beef so there’s a hot stew waitin’ for me.”
“Sounds good. You’re a lucky man.”
“I tell ya what, why
don’t you come home with me for supper? We can always handle one more at the table. Afterward, we can have that talk with a beer.”
“Now that’s the best offer I’ve had since coming here. You’re on, thanks.”
“I’ll pick you up at six-thirty.”
“Right. See you then.” We both hung up our respective phones.
* * *
Pete arrived back from his run up to Rockhead and his meeting with Butler about twenty minutes later. He had a smile on his face.
“Looks like you got something,” I said when he came over and sat down in front of my desk.
“Yep,” he said, nodding. “He gave up Kline as the one who actually did the deed,” Pete said, taking out his notebook.
“He’s sure ‘bout Kline?’
“Yep. Saw the whole thing. I asked if Jencks was involved, he sez no, not directly anyway. He also gave up a name that’ll take us to the thieving operation, maybe even to the Dartmouth connection.”
“That’s great work,” I said, sitting back. “He agree to testify?”
“I didn’t discuss that part with him yet, but I think he’ll cooperate. He really doesn’t want to do any time. I think he jus’ got unlucky an’ took a job that went sour an’ he was caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“What about this other name? Who is it?”
“Ray Purcell. Never heard a him before. He’s a fisherman working outta Purcell’s Cove. Owns a coupla trucks which he uses to haul freight when he’s not fishin’. Accordin’ to Butler, Purcell hired him and another guy as strikers on a pick up at the pier and drop off. He didn’t know where that was, I asked. Anyway, they showed up at twenty-four for the pick up an’ that was when it went sour. When they left with Slaunwhite’s body, he an’ the other guy took off when the truck stopped in Greenbank.”
“Bloody good work, Pete. Okay, first thing, run a check on this Ray Purcell. Get everythin’ you can. Then we’ll get an arrest warrant for theft and accessory to murder and bring him in.”
“Okay, sounds good to me. What about Kline?”
“I’ll get another warrant for him,” I said. “First, we gotta find out where he is holed up.”
Murder on the Docks Page 11