Stanton- The Trilogy

by Alex MacLean

  “What’s her name?”

  “Wendy Drummond.”

  “Did she find the body?”

  Malone hitched up the holster side of his gun belt. “She did.”

  “Where’s she now?”

  “They took her to the QE2 for shock.”

  “Did they get a statement?”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  Pausing, Audra looked up from the page. “Oh.” She closed the notebook and hooked her pen on the cover. “I guess I’ll talk to her later.”

  She stepped away and gave the scene a full sweep with her eyes. The murder had occurred in a two-story row house on Queen Street. Half the building was painted green with red trim, the other half purple with yellow trim. Barrier tape encircled the property to keep everyone out. Two uniformed officers IDed anyone wanting through.

  Audra could hear the sounds of the city around her—engines revving and slowing, car doors shutting, fading chatter of people walking on the sidewalks.

  She noted two compost bins and a Dumpster pushed against the chain-link fence at the far corner of the parking lot. On the right side, a picket fence divided the property from Atlantic News, a magazine store on the corner of Morris Street.

  In the surrounding buildings, a smattering of figures stood at windows with their cell phones held up to the glass. Very soon, images and videos of the murder scene would be uploaded to the Internet. Another person’s brutal death laid out on display for the voyeuristic world to see.

  Audra looked off to the parking lot of the Mary Queen of Scots Inn next door, where a crowd of onlookers had gathered. She took in each face, many young and multicultural. Close by, a clump of newspeople set up cameras.

  She walked back over to Malone and pointed her chin to the onlookers. “Let’s get a plainclothes officer to mingle with the crowd,” she said. “See if anyone’s talking.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  Malone keyed his shoulder mike, speaking into it in hushed tones. A voice answered back over his radio, “Copy that. Someone will be there in ten.”

  Audra gave Malone a thumbs-up. “Has Coulter been notified?”

  “He’s on the way.”

  “Good.”

  Audra clicked on her camera and made a 360-degree turn with it, taking pictures of the neighboring buildings, the row house, the driveway beside it, the parking lot, the license plates of three cars parked by the back fence, the faces on the civilian side of the barrier tape.

  A slight breeze lifted her curls as Audra approached the row house. Five feet outside the apartment, she noticed a puddle of vomit on the asphalt. She stopped and aimed her camera at it.

  “That would be the girlfriend’s,” Malone called out to her.

  Audra turned and threw him a smile. “Okay. I gotcha.”

  She snapped off a couple of shots, then continued toward the scene. When she reached the stoop outside the first-floor apartment, the smell of blood grew stronger. Audra saw the Ident crew busy at work—Harvey Doucette applying a light coat of aluminum dust over the outside doorknob and Jim Lucas shooting away with his camera. Both men wore full Tyvek coveralls with attached hood and boots. HEPA respirators covered their mouths and noses.

  Audra slipped the booties on over her shoes. Tugging a pair of latex gloves from a front pocket, she pulled them onto her hands.

  “Is it safe to come in?” she asked the men.

  Harvey looked over his shoulder at her, a brush poised in one hand, an oval palette containing a small amount of powder in the other. Sweat gleamed on his forehead. Audra knew all too well how hot those coveralls could get.

  “Just keep to the outer perimeter of the kitchen,” Harvey said, his voice muffled by the respirator. “Left side.”

  “Want a mask, Detective?” Jim asked.

  “If you have a spare.”

  “I have a few.” The hulking man dropped to a squat at his equipment case and took out a HEPA respirator. He tossed it over to Audra.

  “Thank you, Jim.”

  She positioned the respirator on her face and stretched the elastic straps over the back of her head, watching Harvey take a puffer bulb to blow off excess powder from the doorknob.

  “Got a couple partials,” he said. “Good ridge detail.”

  Jim leaned in and shot photos of the revealed prints.

  “Hopefully they belong to the suspect,” Audra said.

  Jim turned his head slightly toward her. “We can always hope.”

  Audra examined the doorframe and the edge of the door for pry marks in the wood. Didn’t find any. She then scooched past the men and stepped into the kitchen, surveying it with a slow roll of her head left to right. As her gaze settled on that part of the room where the murder had occurred, a sharp exhalation rushed out of her mouth. Malone wasn’t kidding when he’d called it God-awful. It had the look of an explosion of rage, and the contrast of blood against the white of the kitchen made the scene jaw dropping.

  Linear patterns of blood spatter ran up the south wall over the ceiling toward the north wall by the back door and then back again. Someone had swung a bloody weapon repeatedly. Possibly a tire iron, a bat, or even a pipe.

  Audra could only see the victim’s right foot and part of a leg on the floor by the kitchen table. The table itself blocked the rest of him. Off to the left, a pale lump of flesh lay on the floor by the refrigerator. Audra swallowed when she realized it looked like a human ear.

  Blood had flowed from the body and formed a large pool in the middle of the floor. The outer edges looked to be separated from the serum, and the blood was dark and crystallizing in the shallower areas of the pool.

  Audra snapped off several photos with her camera. She inspected the rest of the floor for any footwear impressions from the suspect. Clean. Someone had been careful.

  Instead of moving in directly to view the body, Audra first looked around, noting details. The place was small and dirty, but not unbearably so. The ceiling light shone above one of those square discount shades that had become a graveyard for several flies. Print dust coated the light switch by the back door where Jim and Harvey worked away. Beside that, a drawn roller shade closed off the view of the rear parking lot.

  Audra’s gaze moved over the eight empty beer cans on the kitchen counter, the two glasses in a sink full of dirty plates and utensils, the three chairs pushed in against the kitchen table. Nothing seemed to be rummaged through. The drawers were intact. The cupboard doors were closed. No food looked like it was being prepared prior to the murder.

  A doorway on each end of the south wall opened into other rooms. Audra glanced into the dark room on the left and saw shadows and shapes of what she believed to be a sofa, a television atop a stand. In the one on the right, the shape of a bed, a dresser. Daylight highlighted the edges of another drawn blind.

  Audra moved deeper into the kitchen, keeping close to the left wall, and as she laid eyes on the body, her stomach knotted in anxious tension. Throughout her five years in homicide, she’d been forced to take what she saw in stride, to distance herself from the murder and mayhem man imposed on his fellow man. She’d marveled at the countless ways people chose to murder one another, heard all the inexplicable reasons no one of sound mind or judgment could even fathom.

  Then came those rare occasions such as this, one that would set the bar even higher and sear the memory like a branding iron.

  Audra found herself staring not at the mangled body of Todd Dory face up on the floor but at the axe stuck in his head. An unusual weapon of choice to say the least. On closer inspection, Audra realized it wasn’t your common chopping or splitting axe found in every hardware store, it was one of those pick-head axes used by Fire & Rescue and demolition crews. Definitely a specialty item, and with any luck the manufacturer had a short list of buyers in the area.

  The axe had a wooden handle, and someone had written a word in black marker on the side of it. At first, Audra couldn’t make it out, then she realized the word was upside down.
She tilted her head to see it.

  “Corpse,” she whispered to herself.

  4

  Halifax, June 8

  11:41 a.m.

  Strange, Audra wondered. What the hell did “corpse” mean? Because Dory was now one?

  She lifted her camera, zoomed in on the word, and captured some close-up photos. Backed the zoom off and took additional photos from different angles. Then she tried to visualize what had happened here.

  It looked as if Dory had been bound to a chair and his mouth taped shut prior to being hacked repeatedly. He then fell back in a bloody heap on the floor once the pick end of the axe head drove into the top of his head. His legs were splayed on each side of the chair seat, with his arms twisted underneath him. A flap of skin hung off the left side of his face, with a blood-soaked shaving of bone in it. There were several incised wounds in the neck and shoulders.

  Just from the sheer brutality of the attack, Audra sensed the murder displayed a fiery relationship between Dory and the suspect. At the very least, the crime required close contact, which meant the chance of trace evidence.

  “What would a shrink make of this?” asked Jim, walking over.

  Audra shrugged. “Not sure. I see a lot of rage.”

  “Makes you wonder whose wife he was screwing.”

  “Hmmm.” Audra kept her eyes on the body. “That’s possible. Apparently he has an extensive criminal background, so I’m sure he’s made a few enemies.”

  “Malone said he ran with Lee Higgins’s group of thugs,” Jim called over to Harvey, who gently lifted the fingerprint from the doorknob with cellophane tape. “What’s that gang called, Harvey?”

  “Black Scorpions. They only had four or five members. Two of them were sent to Renous last November for shooting Ruben Gamble.” Harvey placed the tape on a latent-print card and smoothed it out. “Didn’t you and Stanton work that case, Detective?”

  Audra nodded. “Yeah, we did. Gamble was just an innocent bystander. They just grazed their intended victim.”

  “The Black Scorpions were involved in the usual gang shit: drug trafficking, assault, robbery, auto theft. As far as I know, the remaining members have been quiet for a while. Two weeks ago, Todd Dory here just got off an armed robbery charge from last year.”

  Audra narrowed her eyes on Harvey. “I remember now. That convenience store over on Herring Cove. Jury acquitted Dory because they felt the clerk was an unreliable witness.”

  “Recanted her story,” Harvey said. “Swore on the stand that it wasn’t Dory and that she had smoked some weed outside the store just before the robbery happened.” He began filling out the print card with a pen. “Scared, I bet. Funny, officers didn’t report her being under the influence at the time.”

  Audra nodded again. “Someone got to her.”

  Harvey held up the print card for Jim to photograph. Audra chewed the inside of her mouth, staring at the axe again. Something bothered her about it. She had no doubts a guy with an axe was a scary thing—she would surely run—and the axe itself was capable of inflicting great damage, but it seemed such an awkward and cumbersome weapon to wield. It required a swing to be effective. It was top-heavy and ran the risk of getting stuck in something.

  Audra wondered if it would scare Todd Dory enough to comply with whatever the suspect wanted him to do. Here was a guy, what, six-foot, two hundred pounds. A gangbanger. Probably a tough guy. Probably had an illegal gun or two hidden somewhere in the apartment. Wouldn’t he wrestle the suspect over the axe? Yet there were no signs of a struggle.

  This drummed up two possible scenarios right away—more than one suspect, or another weapon was used to get Dory to comply first. Maybe a combination of both.

  Audra glanced at the kitchen door again. No peephole. No intercom on the wall. Wouldn’t Dory have vetted the person knocking before opening up? Was he expecting someone? Had he known the suspect?

  Audra made her way into the living room, carefully stepping around furniture, until she reached the front window. She snapped up the shade and squinted at the sudden rush of daylight into the room. The window looked onto Queen Street, and she saw a bored-looking officer kicking at stones on the sidewalk in front of the building. Barricades, positioned at the corners of Morris and South, stopped traffic from entering the area.

  Audra noted the deadbolt in place on the front door, the window latched at the top. She looked around the floor, the ceiling, the walls, the furniture, searching for a break in the pattern, something out of the ordinary. The room was an epitome of bachelor living. Two pairs of socks kicked off on the floor. A faded sweatshirt, turned inside out, tossed over an arm of the sofa. An open bag of potato chips with its crumbs spilled on an end table.

  The sofa and chair, rumpled and well worn, looked as if they had been picked up at a yard sale or maybe even rescued from someone’s curb during cleanup week. Stacks of glossy magazines were piled on the coffee table. Audra scanned the titles—Freshly Inked, Tattoo, and Guns & Ammo. Two envelopes lay beside them, both slit along the top. One was a bill from Eastlink for cable and telephone service. The other was a bank statement showing a balance of $3,294.47. Purchases in the past month were made at liquor stores, grocery stores, different fast food joints, and several from Skull ’N’ Bones Tattoo Studio.

  Nothing seemed to be displaced.

  Audra walked around the room some more. She didn’t see any photos. No family, no friends, not even one of Todd Dory.

  She left the living room for the bedroom. She sprang the roller shade and checked the window. Locked. She turned to face the room. A bare light bulb hung from a cord in the middle of the ceiling. The bed had no frame, just a double mattress and box spring placed directly on the floor. No sheet covered the top or cases on the pillows. A blue comforter was pushed to one side.

  The small dresser pressed against the right wall was beat up, with peeling veneer and a handle missing from one drawer. Loose change, a wallet, and a cell phone lay on top. A single bi-fold door closed off the closet. The bedside table held a plain clock radio with jumbo numbers reading 11:53. Next to it, another doorway led into the bathroom.

  Suddenly the room got brighter as the sun broke free of the clouds. Audra photographed the items on the dresser. She didn’t touch the cell phone. Instead, she rifled through the wallet and found credit and bank cards, Air Miles, $25. She slipped out Todd Dory’s driver’s license, staring at the face in the photo. He sported a burr haircut, five o’clock shadow, stern expression, and a scorpion tattoo on his neck.

  Audra photographed the license and tucked it into the wallet. She stopped for a moment and put a palm over the respirator. She wanted to take it off her face. It almost felt like breathing steam, and she could feel moisture gathering in her nostrils.

  She went back to work, searching through the dresser drawers, pushing aside socks, underwear, and T-shirts. In the second one down, she found a contact lens case tucked in the back. She brought it out and opened it. Inside were two theatrical lenses, the kind used on Halloween to make the eyes look scary. They were solid white with holes punched in the middle for the user to see through.

  Todd Dory didn’t seem the type to go out trick-or-treating, so what other reason would he have them? To hide the real color of his eyes in the commission of a crime? Audra decided to relay the info to the GIS unit. It might provide them a clue to help narrow their focus in any of their ongoing investigations.

  Audra photographed the lenses, closed the case, and set it on top of the dresser. When she reached the bottom drawer, she found a wad of cash held together by a rubber band, three blister packs of Erimin-5, dozens of cocaine dime bags, and two pieces of hash rolled into ropes that reminded Audra of the licorice cigars she used to buy as a child.

  She focused her camera on the items and took several pictures. Then she picked up the cash, removed the rubber band, and began counting. She totaled $4,000 in twenties and fifties.

  Folding the money in half, she stretched the rubber band over it a
nd called out to Jim and Harvey, “Hey, guys.”

  Seconds later, Jim poked his head into the room. “What’s up, Detective?”

  Audra held up the wad of cash for him to see. “Found a stash.”

  Jim came in and walked over to the dresser, looking into the open drawer. “Drugs, money, and death.”

  “Same thing every time.” Audra put the wad back where she had found it.

  “You think rival gang members had something to do with this?”

  “Maybe,” Audra said. “Dory might’ve encroached on a competitor’s turf. He’s obviously been dealing.”

  “The axe though? That’s pretty personal. Up until now, we’ve only been seeing drug-involved shootings.”

  Audra spread her hands. “I know. It might be a tactic to scare off rivals. Look at Mexico. But we might not even be in the ballpark either. People are unpredictable, but no one acts without motivation. The reason could be more complex than it appears. Never assume anything.”

  She opened the closet door. Shirts, sweats, and pants hung from metal hangers. Two pairs of sneakers rested on the floor. Beside her, lights flashed from Jim’s camera as he captured the contents of the dresser drawer.

  Audra pulled the comforter back then moved to the head of the bed to check under the pillows. Nothing under the first one. Under the second she found a SIG P226 with a magazine fully engaged. It was the same model as her own service pistol, and no way Dory had purchased it legally. Probably a black-market weapon or stolen from a legal gun owner. Nearly half of the guns confiscated in the province were stolen. Only a small percentage was smuggled in.

  “I’m not surprised to find this,” she said, snapping off a few photos.

  “Whoa.” Jim stepped over, his eyebrows arched high on his forehead. “He never got to use it.”

  “Didn’t get a chance to, I bet.” Audra set her notebook on the mattress, carefully picked up the pistol by the grips, and drew the slide back just enough to see the shiny side of a nickel-plated casing in the chamber. “It’s charged.”