Stanton- The Trilogy

by Alex MacLean

  Seth sat in the passenger seat, like he was just waiting for someone. He wore his ball cap with the bill pulled low on his forehead. His binoculars lay by his leg, and he’d bring them up to his face whenever he saw someone go inside or come out of Blake Kaufman’s apartment building. In the time Seth had been there, three people had gone in, one had come out. None were Blake Kaufman.

  As Seth looked over the apartment building, he knew it was high risk. He couldn’t go inside because someone might see him. The other seven apartments were full of witnesses. And what if Kaufman didn’t live alone like Dory had? What if there was a wife or girlfriend in there? Even worse, kids?

  Seth shook his head. Kaufman was within his grasp, yet so many obstacles stood in the way. Should he just take the first opportunity to kill him? It was temptingly simple but came with a lot of uncertainty. The best option would be to get Kaufman outside somewhere, alone. Ambush him when he least expected it.

  Seth saw a silver PT Cruiser come out of the parking lot. The driver hung his arm out the window, and Seth stared at it. Muscled. Clearly tattooed. As the car drew closer, Seth could make out the skull in the top hat, the smoking cigar clamped between white teeth. The man behind the wheel wore shades and a red bandana cap.

  Seth’s mouth went dry. His heart raced. Utterly still, he watched Blake Kaufman drive past. So close, he thought, and no shotgun, no knife. Without them, he felt weak and powerless.

  He slid over to the driver’s seat, started the engine, and swung the car around. Kaufman had stopped for the red light at the intersection of Victoria Street and Primrose. The left turn signal flashed.

  Seth waited in the parking lot until the traffic light turned green then pulled out. The PT Cruiser shot forward and headed south on Victoria Road. Seth followed at a safe distance, keeping the needle below the speed limit. Three cars whipped past him and tucked in behind Kaufman.

  They continued to Nantucket Avenue and straight down to the MacDonald Bridge. Kaufman eased into the traffic piled up at the toll plaza.

  Seth dug a loonie from a front pocket and coasted into the far lane. The slow procession of cars ahead of him moved forward like a drive-thru lineup, creeping gradually in stops and starts. By the time Seth reached the tollbooth, Kaufman had already gone through. The dash clock read 5:52.

  Seth tossed the loonie into the coin bucket, and the padded gate lifted. On the other side of the plaza, the five lanes merged into one snarled with traffic. The two opposing lanes looked even worse.

  Kaufman was on the deck of the bridge now, following the slow convoy across. Seth inched closer to the single lane when a Good Samaritan waved him on. Cutting into place, he counted nine cars between him and Kaufman.

  To his left, the sun glittered on the aqua water of the harbor. Seth saw a ferry pulling away from the Halifax Terminal. To his right, two sailboats were blowing down the Narrows, a bottleneck channel that connected the Halifax Harbor to the Bedford Basin. It was the same area where the two ships had collided in the Halifax Explosion back in 1917.

  Seth reached the back span of the bridge, the city of Halifax looming larger in his windshield. He watched Kaufman hang a right at the first exit. It looped between the concrete pillars under the bridge and connected to Barrington Street.

  Seth feared he’d soon lose him. Once Kaufman reached Barrington, he had two directions to choose from: left took him to Bedford; right took him into downtown Halifax.

  Seth came around the loop. He didn’t see Kaufman anywhere. On a guess, he kept to the right and merged into the lanes toward the inner city. Traffic was much lighter going in than coming out. He signaled into the left lane and punched the gas, shooting past other cars.

  Farther up the street, he saw the PT Cruiser stopped for a red light. The light changed, and Kaufman took off again. Seth edged into the right lane, following.

  The road forked, and four cars in front drifted to the right, taking the on-ramp for the Cogswell Interchange, a labyrinth of concrete highways and overpasses. Kaufman continued straight toward Hollis Street and into the city’s financial district. There was a lot of historic architecture here—Neoclassic, Italianate, and Victorian Eclectic. Some buildings, empty with their windows papered over, bespoke the economic hardships and changing markets.

  Kaufman turned left on George Street, heading downhill for the waterfront. Seth couldn’t make the light in time, and he smacked his palm on the steering wheel. Helpless, he watched Kaufman disappear once more.

  When the light turned, Seth stomped on the gas. The good thing about Upper Water Street was that it traveled one way, eliminating any guesswork as to where Kaufman had gone.

  The street buzzed with activity. People filled the sidewalks. Cars lined the curbs. Seth drove slowly, his eyes seeking out the PT Cruiser. Eventually, he spotted it again, idling at the courtyard of Historic Properties. Some dark-haired broad in a white blouse and black slacks approached the car. She carried a plastic grocery bag bulging with what looked to be takeout containers.

  Seth watched her open the passenger door and hop inside. Then Kaufman sped off. Seth managed to follow him back over the bridge into Dartmouth. It became obvious Kaufman was returning home.

  Seth wondered about the woman. Who was she? Kaufman’s wife? Girlfriend? Regardless, the apartment building was off-limits. No question now.

  Seth would try to get Kaufman alone somewhere. Either outside the building or another location. It didn’t matter where. He would use the shotgun first. He would hold it steady and pull the trigger, aiming to maim, not to kill. Then he would use the knife.

  And Blake Kaufman would be dead.

  25

  Halifax, June 12

  9:20 a.m.

  Daphne wrapped the ends of the extension cord around her hands and pulled it into a tight line in front of her. Through a film of tears, she stared at it as if hypnotized.

  You win, she thought. I can’t take this anymore.

  It was an escape—the only one available to end the pain. Right now, that’s all she wanted.

  Her poor mother, her poor father. It broke her heart to think of them. They loved her so much, and she’d let them down. Destroyed all the ambitions they had for her. Leaving them behind was the only thing that made this difficult. She never wanted to hurt them. But they were strong and brave, unlike her. They’d get through it. She just prayed they would forgive her and not blame themselves.

  The bedroom was shadowed, the blinds drawn. Volume turned low, Regina Spektor’s buoyant voice, backed by the soft balm of a piano, spilled from the stereo.

  Daphne heard a faint thump, like a car door closing outside, then the windup of a motor. She unwrapped the cord from her hands and got off the bed, walked over to the window. Cracking the blinds, she saw her father’s Sonata backing out of the driveway. Her mother’s Impala was still home.

  The morning was misty. Beads of dew covered the front lawn. Ribbons of fog lingered, snagged in treetops under a dreary sky.

  Eyes sad, Daphne watched the taillights of her father’s car disappear down the street.

  “Bye, Dad.”

  She left her bedroom and paused at the top of the staircase, one hand on the banister. The house felt quiet, still. She wondered where her mother was.

  She went down the stairs. There was no one in the living room. As she entered the kitchen, she heard papers rustling. The French door to the den was cracked open. A light reflected on the square panels of glass.

  Daphne tiptoed closer and saw her mother sitting inside, captured in the light of a desk lamp. She wore khaki slacks and a crisp, white shirt, making her look so pretty and professional as she pored over her files. Daphne wished she could be more like her. Tough. Determined. Successful.

  For a time, she stood there, watching her. She remembered a little girl blowing bubbles into glasses of milk with her mother, both of them making a mess all over the kitchen table and laughing without a care in the world. She remembered cuddling next to her mother in bed at story time
and falling asleep to the soothing sound of her voice. She remembered watching her mother reaching into the oven and taking out the first pan of chocolate chip cookies they had baked together.

  Daphne bit down on her lip, fighting that urge to weep. She could feel it there in her chest, a physical pain, blowing up like a balloon, wanting to pour out of her.

  I’m so sorry, Mom. So sorry.

  > > > < < <

  Audra leaned back in the leather chair with a sigh. The Todd Dory murder investigation had run into the proverbial brick wall. No physical evidence. Only one witness who hadn’t seen the suspect’s face. And a grainy surveillance video the lab probably couldn’t do anything with. The rainy night had played into the suspect’s favor. Besides, he’d known the camera’s presence and had taken steps not to show himself.

  Audra found herself second-guessing everything she did. What had she missed? Was there something she wasn’t looking at that she should be?

  She glanced at her watch: 9:31. Perhaps she could catch Lee Higgins at home. So far he’d been elusive the past few days—she hadn’t been able to catch up with him.

  She gathered up her files, stacked them together. As she put them inside her briefcase, she caught a glimpse of Daphne through the glass of the French door. Audra looked over at her. Daphne gazed back with a distant, dreamy look spread across her face.

  Audra frowned. Since Daphne had been sick on Thursday morning, she seemed to be coming around. Yesterday, she’d begun to eat more, appeared more relaxed, more like her old self. Perhaps her time away from school did it. Would she become more symptomatic Sunday evening or Monday morning when another school day loomed in front of her?

  Audra wished her daughter would just open up, tell her what was going on.

  She swiveled her chair around and flashed Daphne a smile, lifted a hand to acknowledge her. Daphne blinked, as if seeing her for the first time. She opened the door and took a few steps inside, fingers playing with the hem of her sweatshirt.

  “Hi, honey,” Audra said. “What are you up to?”

  “Nothing, Mom. Are you going to work?”

  “Yeah. I have some interviews to do. What about you? What’s on your agenda for today?”

  Daphne looked up and away. “Umm...reading. I might go for a walk later if it doesn’t rain.”

  “Yeah? Well that’s good, honey. Fresh air and exercise will do you wonders.”

  Daphne hesitated. “Where’d Dad go?”

  “Went over to Canadian Tire to buy a nozzle for the hose. Ours is leaking.”

  “How long will he be?”

  Audra shrugged. “Hour or so. Why?”

  Daphne’s gaze shifted toward the windows fronting the street, her eyes growing small. “No reason. Just wondering.”

  “Oh.”

  Audra waited, but Daphne said nothing more. She spun around to her desk and snapped off the lamp, closed her briefcase. To her surprise, Daphne came up behind her and began silently rubbing her shoulders. Audra didn’t ask why, just thought it odd. When Daphne finished, she kissed Audra on top of the head.

  “I love you, Mom,” she said.

  Audra tipped back in her chair, staring up into her face. “I love you too, honey.”

  Daphne smiled down at her, but there was something pensive and unhappy about her eyes.

  “Everything okay?” Audra asked.

  The smile stayed on Daphne’s face. “Fine. You don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

  She pulled away, and Audra watched her walk out of the den with a slow, shuffling gait.

  Why don’t you talk to me, girl? Let me help you.

  Audra stared at the empty doorway, feeling a dull ache of worry and sympathy in the pit of her stomach, deeper than hunger.

  > > > < < <

  Daphne went into her room and sat down on the edge of the bed. Bending forward, she rested her forehead on clasped hands. Tears fell from her eyes, and she watched them drop into the carpet at her feet. This was going to be tough. The toughest thing she’d ever done.

  She wondered how long it would take, if it would hurt.

  At the edge of her awareness, she heard the bang of the kitchen door. She got up and went to the window. In moments her mother appeared in the driveway, walking toward her car. She placed her briefcase on the backseat, then climbed in behind the wheel. The engine started. The headlights came on. The car started backing out to the street.

  Heart pounding, Daphne watched her mother vanish down Ogilvie and realized it would be the last image she’d ever have of her.

  > > > < < <

  Audra turned onto Young Avenue, a wealthy boulevard of grand homes and a grassy median with black lampposts running down the center of the street. Mature trees, in full bloom, lined both sides of the sidewalk.

  Audra braked for a stop sign at the corner of Inglis Street and hung a right. As she headed toward the downtown core, she found Daphne’s voice replaying over in her mind.

  “I love you, Mom.”

  Audra winced.

  “You don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

  Audra eased her foot up on the gas pedal.

  “Where’d Dad go...how long will he be?”

  Audra gripped the steering wheel, clenched her jaw. Perhaps it was nothing. Nothing at all. But that chill crawling up the back of her neck felt real and ominous, and so did that feeling in her gut, like someone had just reached a dirty hand in there and begun squeezing.

  She saw a gas station ahead and she pulled in, spun the car around. Taking out her cell phone, she dialed Daphne’s number.

  Clint Eastwood came on. “Go ahead, make my day. Leave a message.”

  Audra hung up, steered onto Young Avenue with one hand, and stomped the gas. Her fingers punched out the numbers for the home phone. No answer. At the sixth ring, the answering machine kicked in.

  “Daphne,” she hollered over the voice of her husband telling the caller that the Price family was unavailable. “Daphne, pick up please. Daphne. Honey, are you there?”

  The beep rang out.

  “Daphne,” she told the spinning tape, “please call me.”

  She raced down Ogilvie Street toward their home. The tires gave an abrupt squawk as she jammed the brakes on in the driveway. She ran to the back door of the house, part of her feeling silly. She pictured Daphne laughing when she saw her mother scrambling through the door, out of breath, hysteria written all over her face.

  “Told you, Mom. You didn’t need to worry anymore.”

  That was all right. At least Audra would only look foolish, maybe a bit crazy. It would be a worthwhile trade-off to make if she knew her daughter was safe. And maybe she could see Daphne laugh again. Laugh like she used to do. It’s been so long. So damn long.

  Audra fumbled her key into the lock, opened the door.

  “Daphne,” she called out.

  She went through the kitchen into the living room. The light on the answering machine flashed away with the message she’d left.

  As Audra started up the stairs, she heard a thumping on the floor. Maybe Daphne had her earphones in, listening to music and beating her foot to the tunes.

  Audra reached the hallway, saw her daughter’s bedroom door closed.

  “Daphne.”

  The thumping continued. Then Audra heard another sound mixed in, a metallic clanging, like hangers banging together.

  “Daphne,” she repeated.

  She opened the bedroom door. In quick succession, her eyes fell on the empty bed first, the empty desk second. Then she saw the source of all the noise. On the other side of the room, Daphne hung from the bar in her closet, suspended by an electrical cord wrapped around her neck. Her loose limbs kicked and beat the floor and walls as her body thrashed about.

  And Audra screamed.

  She screamed, stumbling toward her daughter.

  She screamed, “No, honey. No. No. No. Not you. Not my baby.”

  She threw an arm around Daphne’s waist and picked her up. Frantically, s
he tugged at the knots in the cord with her free hand, couldn’t loosen them. They were too damn tight. Panic ripped through her mind.

  Knife. Use your knife, stupid.

  Tears streaming down her face, Audra took it from the pouch on her belt, flipped open the blade. She cut the cord from the bar and eased Daphne to the floor, holding her head in case she’d injured her neck.

  “It’s okay, honey,” she said. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

  She unlooped the cord from Daphne’s neck and flung it across the room, pressed two fingers into her wrist. No pulse. Her chest didn’t seem to be moving either.

  Audra lowered her cheek to Daphne’s nose and mouth, didn’t hear or feel a breath.

  “Please, honey,” she cried. “Don’t leave me. Don’t you leave me.”

  She opened Daphne’s mouth, gently pulling her jaw forward, mindful not to lift her head like she’d been taught. Then she pinched her nose and began mouth to mouth. Two big blows, then she started CPR, pumping Daphne’s chest, fast and hard.

  “C’mon. C’mon, honey.”

  Daphne didn’t respond. Audra checked for a pulse again, felt one this time. Weak. Barely there. She tore her cell phone from the pocket of her blazer, dialed 9-1-1. The ringing became a male voice on the other end.

  “Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?”

  Audra fought the emotion in her voice. “This is Detective Price with the Halifax Regional Police. I need an ambulance at 5758 Ogilvie Street. Halifax. ASAP.”

  “Five-seven-five-eight?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s the number you’re calling from?”

  Audra gave it to him.

  “What type of emergency are you reporting?”

  She stared at Daphne lying on the floor, unmoving, eyes closed, possibly more dead than alive. Audra bit down on her lip and wept.

  “Ma’am?”

  “It’s my daughter,” she said, tripping over the words. “She tried to hang herself.”