Murder on the Docks

by H. Paul Doucette

  Little did Laurier know, as he headed back downstairs, that chambered round had his name on it.

  * * *

  Meanwhile, in the north end of the city, James Coopers was stepping off the tram and headed up towards Rockhead Prison. It was still overcast, and a moderately heavy mist began to fall as he neared the bleak looking stone structure. He shifted direction towards the narrows.

  Off in the distance, he could see several of the nearest ships at anchor in the Basin. He continued on, heading for the headland. Suddenly, he caught a glimpse from the corner of his eye of two men in army uniforms, each carrying rifles slung over their shoulders. They were about sixty feet away and walking slowly toward him. He stopped abruptly and immediately turned around, heading away from them. He had not counted on this. The military must have decided to set up patrols in the area since he killed the rail man. Damn, he thought, as he started to walk away at a normal pace.

  “‘Ere...you there,” one of the soldiers called out from behind him. “Stop.”

  Coopers stopped as ordered. There was no chance to out run the men with the rifles, he was too exposed and there was little cover he could reach in time anyway. He would have to bluff it out. He slowly turned around and waited as the men approached. By now they had unslung their rifles and held them at waist high.

  Coopers had his hands in the pockets of his over coat with the .9-mm pistol in one hand and his sheathed knife ready for the other hand.

  “What’s yer business up here?” one of the soldiers asked when they stopped about five feet away. Coopers saw that he wore two chevrons on the sleeves of his greatcoat.

  “Just taking the air, corporal, that’s all,” Coopers said amiably.

  “Let’s see yer papers,” the corporal demanded, ignoring Coopers smile.

  “Is this a restricted area now? If it is, I didn’t know.” He snapped off the pistol’s safety. He also took a quick look around. Nobody else was nearby. The only possible witnesses that would likely hear the shots were in the prison over a hundred yards away. He readied himself as he levelled the pistol inside the pocket.

  “I said, yer papers,” the corporal demanded again.

  Coopers squeezed the trigger twice. His coat billowed slightly as two muffled reports from the pistol exploded. The first round hit the corporal somewhere in the stomach while the second missed him and the other soldier. As he tried to adjust for the third shot, the other soldier fired his rifle without raising it.

  A searing pain exploded in Coopers’ shoulder as the .303 slug tore through him, shattering his clavicle as it passed. The impact was hard enough to spin him around and drive him back. He stumbled and started to fall as he squeezed the trigger again, the shot going wild. The whole scene was over in five seconds. The corporal was down on the ground clutching his stomach and moaning. Coopers had fallen on his gun arm, not that it mattered. The damaged from the rifle rendered his arm useless.

  The second soldier quickly stepped to Coopers and levelled his rifle at him. Coopers pulled his other hand from his pocket and clutched his wounded shoulder.

  “I...I got ‘im, Arty,” the corporal said from behind him. “Call it in.”

  Both the soldier and Coopers looked at the fallen corporal. He was still lying on the ground and holding his stomach with one hand while holding his rifle level at Coopers in the other.

  “Go on, man, call. I got ‘im.”

  The soldier looked back at Coopers and said, “Ya sure?”

  “Yeah, yeah, go on...an’ tell ‘im ta ‘urry.”

  The soldier slung his rifle and unbuttoned his coat. He reached under it and pulled out a walkie-talkie and barked into it.

  Within fifteen minutes the area was alive with soldiers and military policemen, as well as a couple of Navy shore patrolmen. Coopers had been searched and cleared of all his weapons and papers before being loaded into an ambulance and taken to the Victoria General Hospital under heavy armed guard.

  Two hours later, Phil Mulroney stood in front of the emergency room doctor and asked, “How is he?”

  “As good as one could hope for after being shot by a .303, I suppose. But he’ll make it, mind you, I don’t think he’ll ever have use of that arm again.”

  “Is he awake?” Mulroney asked, nodding at the doctor.

  “Partly, but he is doped up pretty good. I wouldn’t count on getting much sense out of him before tomorrow, maybe even the next day.”

  “Shit. Okay. Where will you be sending him when you’re done here?”

  “Probably up in a ward,” the doctor said.

  “Look, I want him put in a room on his own, got it. No one but me or someone else from Naval Intelligence is to talk to him, understand. Oh, and one more thing. Check inside his mouth. If he really is working with the Nazis, then he might have a false tooth with a cyanide capsule in it.”

  The doctor nodded. “I’ve heard about such a thing but never thought that anyone would actually, uh, do it.”

  “Well, they’re trained to believe the alternative is worse.” Mulroney shrugged.

  “Worse? What could be worse than that, my God.”

  “Interrogation, then the firing squad, or the hangman.”

  The doctor gave Mulroney a long look.

  “Yeah. We will also be posting two armed guards outside his room, and one inside.”

  “I’m sure the hospital will comply with any of your needs,” he said, then after a moment added, “so that’s a German spy.”

  “Yep,” Mulroney said as they started to walk towards the nurse’s station.

  “Doesn’t look any different from any other bloke, does he?”

  “Nope.

  The doctor dictated his instructions to the duty nurse including everything Mulroney wanted. Satisfied, Mulroney thanked the doctor and went back down to where Coopers was recovering. He instructed the two MPs standing there to stay alert and wait until he could send his own people down to relieve them, then headed back to headquarters.

  “So, you believe this Coopers person is the German agent you suspected of operating here?” Lieutenant Commander Parks asked after Mulroney gave him a rundown on recent events.

  “Yes sir, but I still don’t any concrete evidence to prove it. I’m hoping to confirm it after we question him. On a positive note, though, I think we got the man that murdered that old man the other night.”

  “Oh? How so?”

  “Turns out he had a spring-loaded blade lashed to his forearm. Looks like it matched the coroner’s description of the weapon the killer used.”

  “Like the one you said some German agents use.”

  “That’s right,” Mulroney said.

  “I suppose you will be letting Robie in on your findings?”

  “Yes sir, thought I might.”

  “Yes. Okay, let him know. When do expect to question him?”

  “That’s up to the hospital, I’m afraid. He took a pretty bad hit from the rifle shot. Apparently, it really tore up his shoulder.”

  “Hmm. A .303 does tend to do that,” Parks said. “Is there anything else?”

  “I’m sending two of our people to the hospital to watch over him. Then I’m heading to his residence to search it. If we can find a radio...”

  “Then you have him.”

  Mulroney nodded.

  “Right. Report back as soon as you have anything new.”

  Mulroney stood up, headed out of Parks’ office, and walked down the hall. Back at his desk, he picked up the phone and dialled three numbers. Once connected, he ordered two men to meet him in the lobby in twenty minutes then disconnected. His next call was to the motor pool for a car. His last call was to Robie.

  Chapter Eleven

  Maurice Laurier and Gagnon reached the car Laurier had parked in a private garage a few blocks from his house on King Street. He had cleaned out his secret cache where he kept much of his ill-gotten gains and ledgers. He also took the Webley pistol and a box of ammunition. All of which he crammed into a Gladstone trave
l bag, except for the pistol, that he put in the waistband of his pants. When he was ready, he and Gagnon left quietly by the back door.

  They walked away from the house. Gagnon walked quietly beside him, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his overcoat, a hand wrapped around the grip of his pistol. Laurier’s mind was running a mile a minute with everything he had to do before heading out of the city. His main focus was to get to his bank and close out his accounts, there being three, holding a total of four thousand dollars and change.

  “You did not bring any clothes?” Gagnon asked when they reached the garage, speaking for the first time since they left the house.

  “No need,” Laurier answered as he unlocked the side door to the garage. “I keep a suitcase in the trunk with everything I need.”

  “Smart.”

  “Open the door,” Laurier said, pointing to the main door. He then got in the car and started the engine. Once Gagnon had swung the doors open, he eased the big sedan forward, stopping half way out to let Gagnon get in.

  “What is the plan?” Gagnon asked once he settled onto the seat.

  “First, we go get my monies from two banks, then we head for the highway.”

  “How long before we reach Montreal?”

  “A few days if we go through New Brunswick. A bit less if we cut across northern Maine.”

  “There’s a reason not to cross over?”

  “Canadian authorities at the border. I think it would be better to by-pass them.”

  Gagnon just nodded and settled into the seat.

  “Do you expect any problems on the road?”

  “Not much. I think the only problem might come from the military and the RCMP if they are doin’ spot checks or the road is heavy with convoys.”

  “Our travel papers are good?”

  Laurier nodded. “I even have the right gas rationing chits, so we should be okay. By the way, if we are stopped, our story is that we are brothers heading home for a funeral. We use French whenever we are stopped, got it?”

  “Oui.”

  They reached the ferry terminal about ten minutes before it docked. Fortunately, traffic was moderate for this crossing, so they managed to board the boat for the short trip across the harbour. Once on the other side, Laurier went looking for a parking spot. Gagnon stayed in the car while Laurier went into the banks. Luckily, the two banks were both on Hollis Street not more than a block apart.

  * * *

  I was sitting at my desk and Pete was at his when Pete’s phone rang. He reached out and lifted the receiver. The call was brief, and he said very little before hanging up. He got up, came over and stood in front of my desk.

  “I jus’ got an interestin’ call from one of snitches,” he said. “Said he jus’ spotted Laurier comin’ off the ferry in a car with another fella in it. Said he was able to follow it up to Hollis where he saw Laurier park in front of the Halifax Club an’ get out.”

  “Hmm,” I said. “Wonder what that’s all about?”

  “Maybe he’s makin’ a run for it.”

  “Can’t think why. He couldn’t know that we got Kline so soon, unless...”

  I stood up and headed for Shirley Halliday’s cell. On the way, I spotted the officer I placed as her minder.

  “Did the Halliday woman make a call before goin’ in the cell?” I asked him.

  “Yes sir,” he answered.

  “Don’t suppose you caught any of what she might’ve said?”

  “Not much, no sir.”

  “Did it sound like she was talkin’ to a lawyer?”

  He thought about my question for a moment then shook his head saying, “Come ta think about now, I’d hafta say no.”

  “Thanks,” I said, heading back to the office at a run.

  “Grab your coat and let’s go,” I said to Pete as I reached for my overcoat and hat.

  “What’s up?” Pete asked as he slipped into his coat.

  “I think Halliday called Laurier and told him she saw you bringing Kline in as well as what we had on the shooting earlier.”

  “So, you do think he’s makin’ a run for it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wanna get any back up? You know, in case the other guy is that shooter.”

  “No time,” I said as we left the building and dashed for the car. “We’ll jus hafta chance it. You got your gun, right?”

  “Yeah,” he said as I shifted the car into gear and headed for the exit from the lot. I turned on the siren and broke across the two lanes of traffic on Barrington Street then turned the siren off. Luckily, the exit faced the top of George Street which put us two blocks away from Hollis Street and half a block and a half from the Halifax Club.

  I turned the corner onto Hollis Street, merging into the traffic behind a loaded lorry heading for the docks. The traffic was moving fairly slow at the moment which gave me time to put together a quick plan of attack.

  “There,” Pete said. “I see a sedan parked near the Halifax Club. It’s jus’ sittin’ there idling an’ there’s a man sittin’ on the passenger side.”

  “Right,” I said. “You jump out here an’ take it from behind. I’ll get ahead of it an’ park. Don’t do anything until Laurier shows up, okay? You move when you see me get outta the car.”

  “Gotcha,” he said, opening the door as I slowed down enough for him to safely get out. I ignored the car behind me who was blowing his horn.

  I crossed Prince Street and spotted the idling car. I found an empty space three cars ahead of it and eased over to the curb and shut off the engine. I reached up and adjusted the rear-view mirror so I could see the car and street. I saw Pete standing on the corner in the sideview mirror on the passenger side.

  About five minutes passed when I spotted a man dashing between the slow-moving cars heading for the idling car. He was carrying a valise. I reached inside my jacket and pulled my gun then opened the door and stepped out onto the street and walked toward the car.

  “Maurice Laurier,” I shouted, raising my gun. “Halt. You’re under arrest.”

  At that moment, I saw the man in the car stick his arm out of the window with a gun in his hand and that’s when everything suddenly slowed down. Pete had started running down the sidewalk with his gun out. Laurier stood frozen on the spot where he stood. I dodged against the parked car beside me just as the gunman fired. Fortunately, he wasn’t aiming, and the shot went wild. I heard a scream and knew it hit a pedestrian on the other side of the street. Then Pete was at the car, his gun shoved in the open window and pressed against the shooters head while grabbing his gun with his free hand, wrenching it away. It was over in less than a minute. I stood up with my gun leveled at Laurier, who was looking wildly around him.

  “You got them?” I asked, putting my gun away.

  “Yeah,” Pete said back.

  I dashed across the street, dodging the traffic, to where a small crowd of onlookers were standing over a man sitting slumped against the building.

  “Make way,” I ordered. “Step aside, police.”

  The people moved away a short distance as I reached the injured man. He was looking a bit pale and was holding his upper arm. I dropped to a knee and took a look at where he was hit. At first glance, I could see that it likely just a flesh wound judging from the condition of his overcoat where the bullet hit him.

  “It’s okay, fella,” I said. Looks like it’s jus’ a scratch. Jus’ keep your hand there. I’ll radio for an ambulance, okay?”

  He looked up at me with a weak smile and nodded, his eyes glazed with shock. Straightening up, I told two men stand nearby to stay with him while I went back to the squad car to call it in.

  “Okay. everybody,” I said as I moved into the crowd. “Show’s over. Let’s move along.”

  As I went to the car, I saw Pete cuffing Laurier. He’d already cuffed the other man who was now sitting on the sidewalk, his back against the building.

  “Everything okay?” I shouted.

  “Yeah, everything’s under con
trol here,” he called back.

  I got in the squad car and lifted the microphone. When I connected with the station, I ordered a patrol car with two officers to come down for traffic and crowd control. I also ordered an ambulance for the injured man.

  When I joined Pete, he was leaning against Laurier’s car smiling. He reached inside the car and took out the valise Laurier was carrying and passed it to me. I opened it up to reveal a large sum of money as well as three ledgers. I guessed the money amounted to more than twenty thousand dollars from the wrapped bundles of hundred-dollar bills. A quick glance through the ledgers told me that these were the records of all his businesses. I also noted some prominent names list there as well.

  This was going to be a very bad day for certain people in the city’s upper crust, but a very good day for us.

  An hour later, we had everyone booked, officially charged and in the cells. I was sitting with Lieutenant Morrison finalizing my report on the arrests and the shooting. There was a soft knock on the door and then a woman struck her head in. It was his secretary, Alice MacDonald.

  “Sorry to interrupt, but the hospital just called. The man that was shot is okay. It was only a flesh wound, luckily. It didn’t even need stitches.”

  “Thanks Alice,” Morrison said as she closed the door.

  Looking back at me, he said, “This was a crackerjack job, Robie. You solved one murder and shut down the biggest black-market operation in the city. Have you passed anything on to our friends at Naval Intelligence yet?”

  “Some, yeah. Thought I’d take a run down there after our meeting and bring them up to date.”

  “Good idea. Tell them everything, okay? It’s good for us to keep a solid working relationship between our offices.”

  “Yes sir, I agree.”

  “Well, if that’s all, I have some calls to make.”

  “Yes sir,” I said, standing up.

  “This is going to look good on yours and Pete’s records.”

  “Thank you.”

  I headed back downstairs to my office.

  “How’d the boss take it?” Pete asked when I reached for phone.