Murder on the Docks

by H. Paul Doucette

  “That won’t be easy. He could be anywhere, assumin’ he’s even still in the city.”

  “I know. I think it’s time to lean on Jencks ... hard. If anyone’ll know, or have an idea, it’ll be him.”

  “What about Butler? I sorta made a promise to cut him a deal if he talked.”

  “What kind of deal?”

  “I said we’d try an’ see he didn’t do any time, at least not hard time. I had the warden put him on ice.”

  “Yeah, okay, I can live with that. After all, he wasn’t involved with the killing and did make a break for it when he could. I’ll pass it by Morrison, see if he agrees an’ get him to talk to the Crown.”

  I looked at my watch, two-twenty. I realized I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and was hungry. I invited Pete to join me at a diner not far from the station, my treat for a good job. I left feeling pretty good. Looked like things were turning our way on the murder and the pilfering on the docks. Little did I know...

  * * *

  Ed Kline was lying on the bed under the window when he heard a car pull in. He got up and went to the window. Parting the curtain, he looked down in time to see two men getting out of the car. He recognized one as one of Laurier’s henchmen. He didn’t recognize the other man. A sudden sense of fear and danger gripped his mind.

  Something wasn’t right, he thought.

  He turned away from the window and went to the door, cracking it open. He heard a woman’s voice from the bottom of the stairs as he stepped into the hall.

  “You must be the man Maurice sent?” Shirley Halliday asked, closing the door and sizing him up. It was an automatic reaction she had developed when letting a new man into the house. Nature of her business.

  Gagnon simply nodded. “Where is he?” he asked, his voice as cold as the air outside.

  “Upstairs. Second room at the end of the hall on the right.”

  “Stay here,” he said nodding to the man with him to stay put as well and pulling out his gun. He screwed the suppressor onto the end of the barrel as he slowly climbed up the stairs.

  Kline had heard enough. He darted back into the room and grabbed his hat and coat. He quickly put them on as he hurried back to the window. He opened it and leaned out looking for something to help him escape. The drain pipe at the corner and was within his reach. He swung his legs over the window sill and stretched his hand to the pipe. There wasn’t time to test it, so he shifted his body and rolled over to it leaving everything to luck. It held.

  He slid to the ground. Once his feet hit the bottom, he took off at a run to the end of the driveway then, turning right, he fled down the street at a dead run.

  Shirley and the man stood at the foot of the stairs looking up and listening. A few minutes later they saw Gagnon coming running back.

  “Out of the way,” Gagnon said harshly, as he took the steps two at a time.

  “What’s the matter? What happened?” Shirley asked nervously.

  “He left by the window.”

  “Wha...?” she started to ask.

  “It was opened.”

  “But why? He had no idea...”

  “He saw us when we pulled in the drive and put two and two together,” Gagnon said as he opened the door and stepped out onto the sidewalk. He looked both ways and spotted his target about a half a block away running for his life. He raised his arm and squeezed the trigger.

  Kline was almost to the end of the block when the first bullet hit the tree just behind him. Looking over his shoulder he saw the stranger aiming a silenced gun at him. He instinctively ducked and jigged sideways as he two ‘zipping’ sounds passed his ear.

  Gagnon cursed under his breath as he lowered the gun and went back into the house.

  “Missed him.”

  “Shit,” the other man said, speaking for the first time. “Da boss ain’t gonna like this.”

  “Let’s go,” Gagnon snapped, turning for the driveway.

  Back in the car, Gagnon asked, “You know this man?”

  “Not much. Why?”

  “Where do you think he’ll go?”

  “Dunno,” he said, inserting the car key and starting the car.

  “Merde,” Gagnon snapped. “Go, go. Follow him.”

  He held the silenced pistol on his lap and stared out the windscreen as the car backed out of the driveway and headed down the street in the direction Kline disappeared.

  Meanwhile, Shirley closed the door and went to the phone and dialled.

  “Is it done?” Laurier asked when he heard her voice.

  “No. There was a problem,” she said.

  “Whaddya mean...a problem?”

  “Kline wasn’t there when your man went up. He thinks he must’ve heard the car come in, saw them and put two and two together. Figures he skipped out through the window.”

  “Jesus. I wouldn’t ‘a figured Kline to be that clever. Tabernac. Where is he now?”

  “Who?”

  “The shooter.”

  “Him and the other man took off after Kline, at least that’s what I heard your man tell the other man,” Shirley answered. “What do you want me to do now?”

  “Nothing, chere. You’ve done as much as I needed. No need for you to be involved any further.” Laurier said.

  “Okay. Good luck.”

  “Thanks. I’ll call later.” They both hung up.

  * * *

  Kline’s mind raced as panic triggered his adrenalin, adding speed to his flight. Wild thoughts ran through his mind: had Laurier set him up to be killed? If so, then what was he going to do? Where could he go? Who could he trust?

  After three blocks, he stopped and stepped into an alley between two houses. His heart was pounding rapidly, and his chest hurt as he gasped for air. An icy chill sent a shudder through him as beads of sweat ran down his back. He slowly regained control of his breathing and tried to clear his thoughts. It made no sense, he reasoned, why would the boss want to kill him? He was a trusted member of the gang. This was supposed to open up some new opportunities for him, not make him a marked man.

  He shook his head, as if that would dislodge the questions he couldn’t understand or answer. He had to deal with his present situation: find a safe place to hole up until he could figure out what was happening. Kline shoved his hands into the pockets of the overcoat and stepped back out onto the sidewalk. Okay, he thought, where to? A place no one knew about, especially any of Laurier’s bunch. Suddenly, it came to him ... Helen’s place.

  He looked at his watch — ten to four. If he remembered rightly, she would still be at work until at least six and he knew where she kept her spare key. He made another quick scan of traffic and still didn’t see any sign of the car. Nothing.

  Chapter Nine

  James Coopers awoke suddenly. He imagined he heard the sound of footsteps in the hall; soft and slowly moving steps. He reached for the 9-millimetre pistol he always kept under the pillow and rolled off the bed on the opposite side away from the door. He held the gun levelled at the door and waited. Nothing. A moment later he stood up, lowering the gun and slipping it back under the pillow. A bad dream, he thought. He must be more jittery than he realized. It was the killing. He’d never killed anyone before. He would have to step carefully from now on, since the police would be looking for whoever took out the old man.

  He went to the washbasin on the commode and picked up the water pitcher, pouring some of the cold water into the large porcelain basin sitting next to it. He bent down and scooped the water into his cupped hands and splashed it over his face. The cold water was just what he needed, giving him a sharp jolt that instantly cleared his mind.

  Five minutes later he was in the kitchen, standing at the coal burning stove heating water for his tea when the telephone in the hall rang.

  “Hello,” he said when he picked up the receiver.

  “Hi James,” a familiar woman’s voice responded. It was his Abwehr contact in the United States.

  “Oh hi. This is a nice surprise.”
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  It was a surprise, in fact. His US contact rarely called unless it was to convey orders, or a warning. This time it was the later.

  “I just heard from Uncle Kevin with some interesting news.” This was code letting him know that what was to follow was important.

  “Oh? What’s up?”

  “You remember we were planning something special for his fiftieth birthday, well, I just heard that you know who in Montreal has decided it was time to come down and make up.”

  Translation: she was telling him the security people in Montreal were sending someone, or something, to Halifax that might have an impact on him.

  “That’s good news. About time too,” he said. “Thanks for letting me know.”

  “Do you think you’ll make it down for the party?”

  She was telling him that it might be time to shut down his operation and leave Halifax. This contingency had already been set up when he was originally assigned by the Consulate in New York after he returned from Germany.

  “Not sure. Travel is still a problem.”

  “Okay. Just wanted you to know,” she said,

  “Thanks. Look I have to go now, you know, work and all.”

  “Okay. Bye for now. Let us know if you’re coming.” The line went dead, and he hung up.

  He went back into the kitchen. The kettle was steaming away on the stove. He picked it up and poured the hot water into a teapot on the table with some tea leaves already inside and let it steep, then went to the cupboard for a mug and the tin of powdered milk and bowl of sugar. He sat down and considered the phone conversation. It left him feeling unsettled.

  The call was clearly a warning that the authorities were looking for someone here in Halifax as a possible agent. The idea of packing up and leaving wasn’t something he wanted to think about. He had settled into his life here and wasn’t looking forward to giving it up and leaving it behind. He knew the day might come and didn’t want to contemplate the alternative to leaving...federal prison. Fortunately, he had everything in place for a speedy departure. Plans he made before the war.

  Maybe it is time to pack up, he thought, as he poured another cup of tea. First, it looked like his contact at Naval Headquarters might be on to him, which wasn’t good, since he would be open to extortion and exposure. And now, this call. The first problem, his contact, he could solve simply by killing him but that would bring the police into the picture. No, he thought, that wasn’t an option. He still had a few days to decide, so he opted to wait, at least until after this convoy sailed.

  * * *

  My meeting with Morrison went well. He agreed with me that we had enough evidence to take to the Crown Prosecutor’s office to get an arrest warrant for Kline. He also agreed it was time to pass along what we had on the theft operation on the docks to Mulroney, especially as it came more-or-less under his authority rather than ours.

  I left his office feeling pretty good about the result and headed back to the interview room and Jencks. I entered the room with a uniform following me inside who went and stood by a wall. Jencks was pacing the floor puffing on a cigarette.

  “Sit down,” I said, closing the door and stepping to the table.

  “When’re you gonna let me outta here?” Jencks asked. He had stopped pacing when I came in.

  “I said...sit down,” I snapped.

  He hesitated a moment the dropped the butt end of his cigarette, crushing under his boot.

  “Pick that up,” I said, “This isn’t the street.”

  He bent down and picked up the remains of the cigarette and stepped to the table and sat down, putting the remains of the cigarette in the ashtray on the table.

  “Better. Now it’s time for you to make some hard choices.”

  “Whaddya mean?”

  “I mean, by the time I leave this room you’ll tell me everything ‘bout the killin’ of Slaunwhite and everything you know ‘bout the pilfering off the docks. If I’m satisfied, I won’t be chargin’ you with murder.”

  “What! Murder? I ain’t murdered nobody,” Jencks almost yelled, rising in his chair.

  “Siddown. Maybe not, but you were there when it happened, and we know you left with the killer. That makes you an accessory. You could be looking to swing alongside him if found guilty,” I said. I knew I was stretching it here, but it was worth a try to play on his fear.

  “Hang...Jesus Christ.”

  “One of two choices.” I sat back and let the idea take root. I watched as he pulled out another cigarette and lit up, his hands visibly shaking now.

  “Whaddya mean, two choices?” he asked, looking at me and blowing out a lung full of smoke.

  “Either take your chances in court on the murder rap or cooperate an’ spill everythin’ you know. I mean everythin’. You give up the killer an’ the gang doin’ the stealin’ an’ I’ll talk to the Crown an’ ask them to take the death sentence off the table.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Instead of swingin’ you’ll do time.”

  “Ain’t much of a choice,” he muttered.

  “Too bad. So. What’s it to be? Risk the rope or talk?”

  “Okay...okay. Whadda ya wanna know?” Jencks said in resignation.

  “Smart play. I’ll be right back. Think carefully about what you know and be ready to talk when I come back” I stood up and headed back to the squad room. Pete was sitting at his desk.

  “How’d it go upstairs?” he asked when I came in.

  “He agrees we’re ready to get a warrant for Kline. He’s gonna call an’ get it started,” I answered.

  “What about Jencks?”

  “Ready to sing like a canary,” I said, smiling. “I need you to come with me when I go back.”

  “No problem. So, he’s gonna give up Kline?”

  “Uh-huh. And everthin’ he knows about the thievin’ operation.”

  “Jesus,” Pete whistled. “That’s great. What about Laurier?”

  “If we’re lucky, yeah, him to.”

  I filled Pete in on what just happened. I poured two mugs of coffee before leaving.

  “You really are a devious sonofabitch,” he said, chuckling.

  “Whatever it takes,” I returned.

  Back in the room, Pete and I sat down. I set one of the mugs of coffee I carried in front of Jencks then sat down. Pete flipped open his notebook and got ready to record everything.

  “Let’s get started,” I said. “First. The murder of Slaunwhite. Tell me everythin’.”

  Jencks picked up the mug and eyed us over the rim.

  He opened up and gave us a detailed account of the events leading up to and including the killing of Louis Slaunwhite. A lot of his account coincided with what we had already pieced together.

  “We was movin’ freight from back a da shed to da loadin’ dock.”

  “What freight? How’d you know what to take?’ Pete asked.

  “It was marked.”

  “By who?’

  “Dunno. Everythin’ was always marked before we got dere.”

  “Okay, go on,” I said, cutting in.

  “Yeah, sure, anyways, outta nowhere he pops up.”

  “Who?” Pete asked, cutting him off.

  “Ya know, Slaunwhite.”

  “Then what happens?’

  “He starts yellin’ that he got us and was gonna get da cops an’ dats when Ed jumps out an’ clips ‘im wit his hook.”

  “That’s Ed Kline?” I asked.

  Jencks nodded.

  “An’ then?” I said.

  “He drops to da floor. I ain’t never seen so much blood, Jesus. Den Ed tells summa da boys ta help him roll ‘is body inta da truck. Dat’s when me an’ Ed got da fuck outta dere.”

  “Where’d you go?” I asked.

  “Back ta ‘is place. I split after dat.”

  “Where can we lay hands of Kline now? If he’s on the run, where would he go to hole up?” I asked.

  “Not sure,” Jencks said. “Last I ‘eard he was headin’ o
ver to Dartmouth.”

  “Why Dartmouth?” I pressed.

  He shrugged saying, “Dunno.” His tone changed slightly leaving me to think he let something slip he didn’t intend.

  “So why do you think he went there?” Pete cut in.

  Another shrug.

  I had a good idea and pressed him.

  “That’s where your boss lives, right?”

  “Wh..., uh, I dunno nuttin’ ‘bout a boss.”

  “So, you’re sayin’ you don’t know someone named Maurice Laurier, is that it?” Pete cut in.

  “Yeah...dat’s what I’m sayin.’“

  “Remember the rope,” I said.

  Jencks sat there nervously puffing away on his fourth cigarette since the interview began.

  After a moment, I said, “Okay. One more time. Do you know Maurice Laurier?”

  I could almost hear the gears grinding away inside his head as he weighed his chances. It was obvious that he knew Laurier, but it was also obvious that he was scared to talk about him, even with the threat of possibly being hung. I decided to let it go for the moment and come back to Laurier a bit later.

  “Okay. Back to Kline. Where would he hole up? Who’d help him?”

  “Only one I know is some skirt he was runnin’ with, maybe.”

  Helen Hollister. I gave Pete a quick glance and he nodded.

  “Okay,” I said, looking back to Jencks. “You’re doin’ great. Now let’s talk about this business on the docks.”

  “Yeah, sure.” He knew he buggered.

  Before starting, he picked up his mug. It was empty. He waved it me. I got up and went to the door and opened it. I called to the nearest patrolmen I saw and told him to bring three coffees, all with milk powder and sugar then closed the door and went back to the table.

  He spent the next fifteen minutes giving us a complete rundown on the operation, at least as much as he knew about, which was enough. He gave up a number of names, most we already had paper on— streets thug mostly, and a few I guessed were just people like Butler looking for a fast buck. He also gave up a couple of names of dock bosses, Overall, a great catch. Mulroney was going to have a good day when I turned this stuff over to him.