Stanton- The Trilogy

by Alex MacLean

  Audra followed her out. “How’d she do?”

  Carr turned to her, made a sympathetic face. “She’s going to need speech therapy, as you probably know. I’ll do a follow-up in a few days. See how she’s progressing. Once she’s discharged, we’ll have her come into the clinic and get her started on a program.”

  Audra smiled. She liked hearing that word: discharged. It meant Daphne was recovering, maybe even going home soon.

  “Sure,” she said. “Okay. Thank you, Doctor.”

  Audra watched her walk away. When she returned to the room, she found Daphne asleep, holding Daniel’s hand.

  A neurologist, Dr. Sophie Mohren, came in at 2:30 p.m. She was a tall, broad woman who looked to be in her thirties. She wore a beaming smile and had thin, almond-shaped eyes and sunflower hair wound into a topknot.

  She asked Daphne how she was feeling.

  “T-tired.”

  “Do you have pain anywhere?”

  Daphne shook her head.

  “No? No headache or anything?”

  “No.”

  “That’s good. I just want to check a few things. This won’t take long at all. Okay?”

  Daphne nodded.

  “First. Can you tell me your full name?”

  “D-Daphne...Rose...P-Price.”

  “What day is it?”

  Daphne looked at her parents, back to Mohren, and moved her shoulders.

  “You don’t know?”

  “N-no.”

  “Today’s Wednesday,” Mohren told her. “What month and year is it?”

  “Two th-thou...sand. Ten.”

  “Good. The month?”

  Daphne licked her lips. “Ma-March.”

  Audra felt a flutter in her throat, a numbness sink into her bones. Beside her, Daniel shifted in the chair, rubbed a hand over his face. Mohren appraised Daphne for a few seconds. She never corrected her.

  “I want you to remember apple, dog, sky. Okay?”

  Daphne nodded.

  “Repeat them back to me.”

  “A-ap...apple. Dog. Sk-sky.”

  “Good,” Mohren said. “I’m going to lower the head of your bed now. Try to sit upright.”

  Audra went over and placed her hand on Daphne’s back, supporting her, as Mohren lowered the bed until it lay flat.

  “Mom,” Mohren said, “take your hand away, please. I want to see if Daphne can sit up by herself.”

  Audra stepped back. Daphne sat there, not swaying or falling back.

  Mohren smiled. “That’s what I want to see.”

  She checked Daphne’s eyes with an ophthalmoscope, then with a penlight.

  “Keep your head still,” she said. “Follow my finger with your eyes.”

  Back and forth, she moved her index finger in front of Daphne’s face. Audra watched Daphne tracking it smoothly. There was no dancing in her eyes, no shaking when Mohren paused the finger at the edge of her vision.

  “Very good,” Mohren said. “Raise your right arm out in front of you.”

  Slowly, Daphne lifted her arm.

  “Touch your finger to your nose a few times. Fast as you can.”

  Daphne didn’t move fast, but she managed the exercise without missing.

  Audra said, “This is just like the field sobriety test.”

  Mohren nodded. “Very much so. I’m looking for signs of impairment in the cerebellum.”

  Again, she held up her finger in front of Daphne.

  “Touch your nose,” she said, “Then touch my finger.”

  Daphne paused a brief moment, as if envisioning the actions in her brain. Then she tapped her nose, reached out, and tapped Mohren’s finger.

  “Good,” Mohren said. “Well coordinated.”

  She increased the difficulty by moving her finger up and down, side to side. Each time, Daphne touched it.

  Mohren said, “Put one hand over the other. Palms facing. Good. Now flip the top hand back and forth. Fast as you can.”

  Daphne frowned, holding her hands in place, like she was ready to clap. Mohren demonstrated the task for her.

  “Like this,” she said.

  Daphne watched, an embarrassed smile playing on her face. Her movements were sloppy at first, but after a few tries, she got the hang of it.

  Mohren gripped her right hand and told her to relax as she curled Daphne’s arm up and down, pulled it straight out, and twisted her wrist from side to side. She did the same thing with the other arm.

  Reaching into her medical bag, she removed a reflex hammer. She lightly tapped an area on Daphne’s forearm and biceps. Both times, her thumb twitched.

  “Okay,” she said. “Remember those three items I told you?”

  Daphne gave a small nod.

  “Tell me them.”

  “Ap...ple. Dog. Sk-sky.”

  Mohren smiled at her. “Very good. Lie on your back, please. Keep your legs relaxed.”

  She rolled Daphne’s right leg back and forth, then lifted it at the knee joint, allowing it to drop back onto the mattress. She repeated the same procedures with the left leg.

  She had Daphne place her right foot to her left knee and drag it down her shin and back up again. The same with the other leg. Then she told her to bring her knees up so she could test the strength in her hips.

  When Mohren finished, she helped Daphne sit up and told her to swing her legs over the edge of the bed.

  “Okay,” she said. “Can you stand up for me?”

  Audra felt a glow of hope. This was the moment of truth. Could Daphne walk? Or would she have to learn that all over again?

  “Dad,” Mohren said. “Could I get you to go to the far wall, please?”

  Daniel got up and walked over.

  “Mom. Could I get you to go to the window, please?”

  Audra did.

  Daphne touched her feet to the floor.

  “C-cold,” she said, shuddering.

  Mohren chuckled. “Is the floor that cold?”

  “Y-yeah.”

  Daphne stood straight up, her body shaking a bit.

  “How do you feel?” Mohren asked.

  “We-weak.”

  “Are you dizzy?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Put your feet together. Arms at your sides. Eyes straight ahead.”

  Mohren put her hands up beside Daphne’s shoulders.

  “How do you feel now?” she asked.

  “S-same.”

  “Do you feel dizzy?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. Close your eyes. Good. Are you dizzy now?”

  Daphne shook her head.

  Mohren said, “That’s great. Keep your eyes closed. Now lift both arms out in front of you. Hold your palms up.”

  She made Daphne stand like that for about twenty seconds, then told her to put her hands down and open her eyes.

  “Let’s walk over to Dad,” she said.

  Daphne turned around, looked across the room at her father.

  Daniel held out his hands. “C’mon over, kiddo.”

  With careful steps, Daphne started toward him. Mohren kept close to her side.

  “Keep on truckin’,” she said. “You’re doing great.”

  Audra smiled. Daphne’s gait looked good to her. Slow, but steady and coordinated.

  Daphne walked into Daniel’s arms, and he held her close, pressing his cheek against her head.

  “Good job,” he told her. “I love you so much.”

  When Daphne crossed to Audra, she hugged her mother tightly. Over her shoulder, Audra saw Dr. Mohren give them a look of sympathy.

  Daphne pulled back, and Audra touched her face.

  “I’m proud of you,” she said. “You know that?”

  A broad smile lighted Daphne’s face. “Y-yeah.”

  Her gaze drifted to the windowsill, to the bouquet Tabitha Landes and her mother had brought in. She moved toward it, leaning her nose close to the flowers and closing her eyes.

  Audra glanced over at Mohren. “How’d she do?
”

  “Great. A physiotherapist will be coming in to see her. I don’t think she’ll need much work. Probably just some tweaking.”

  Daniel came over to join them.

  “Dr. Carr was in earlier,” he said.

  Mohren nodded. “I spoke to her. She’s concerned about your daughter’s speech.”

  “Sn-snow,” Daphne said suddenly.

  The three adults looked over to see her pressing an index finger to the window and staring out.

  “What, honey?” Audra asked.

  Daphne turned around, frowning. “Wh-where it...go?”

  Audra held her eyes for a moment, heartsick at the confusion she saw there.

  “Tell her,” Mohren said.

  Audra took Daphne’s hand. “Honey, the snow’s been gone for months. It’s not March. It’s June.”

  Daphne’s lips parted, and her eyes grew distant.

  “You’ve been here since Saturday,” Audra said. “Don’t you remember?”

  Daphne did not answer. She gazed out the window once more, and her face began to crumple.

  50

  Halifax, June 18

  2:09 p.m.

  Alone in his office, Allan took a yellow marker and highlighted a transaction on Todd Dory’s credit card statement. The billing company was Lutz Enterprises, Ltd/Halloween-Mask.Com, and the date was October 1, of last year.

  Allan looked up the company website on his computer. They were located in Hartford, Wisconsin. Picking up the phone, he gave them a call and requested a copy of the sales invoice. The woman on the other end hemmed and hawed about their privacy policy. Allan countered by telling her he’d get the Hartford Police to retrieve the invoice for him if that was what it took. Either way he’d get it. That seemed to soften her stance. She told him she’d fax the invoice to him. Allan gave her the number, then hung up.

  He sat back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face. In front of him, his desk was a mess of security videos, crime scene photos, handwritten notes, canvass reports, and statements from Dooly’s staff. Nearly two hundred people had been interviewed in Kaufman’s neighborhood, and Eric Clark remained the only viable witness. If anyone else had seen something even remotely suspicious, they weren’t talking.

  Allan rose off the chair, walking to the window. He gazed out at the green slope of Citadel Hill on the other side of Rainnie Drive and up to the fort walls on top. The day was overcast, dreary. So far, the rain had stayed away.

  A knock came at his door. Captain Thorne poked his head in.

  “Hey, Al,” he said. “Just heard some news out of Acresville.”

  Allan turned to him. “Oh?”

  “They found skeletal remains on the Matteau farm.”

  “The father.”

  Thorne nodded. “That’s my guess.”

  “Mine too,” Allan said. “He just didn’t up and leave one day. Eighteen years gone. No trace of him.”

  “Nope.” Thorne’s face darkened. “Shit, that was one bizarre case.”

  Allan shoved his hands into his pants pockets. “I think there’s more to that story than we’ll ever know.”

  Thorne stepped into the office and eased the door shut behind him.

  In a muted tone, he asked, “How about you, Al? How are you doing?”

  Allan shrugged. “All right.”

  “Yeah? Still thinking about retiring?”

  Allan took a deep breath through his nose, let it out again. He looked down at his shoes for a moment and shuffled his feet once.

  “Still thinking,” he said. “I’ll stay on this case until I either solve it or Audra’s ready to take it over again. Then I’m going back to Toronto to see my son.”

  Thorne frowned. “Yeah, about that. Look, I’m sorry, Al. I hated myself for calling you. I know how you wanted to get away.”

  Allan stared at him. Not get away, he wanted to say. Leave. Leave all of this behind for good.

  “Have you spoken to Audra lately?” he asked.

  “Yesterday. Briefly.”

  “How’s her daughter?”

  Thorne said, “Apparently, she’s having trouble talking. She’s going to need speech therapy. A little physical therapy, I guess.”

  “But she’s improving, isn’t she?”

  “Oh, yes. She is.”

  Allan felt a wash of hope and relief flow through his chest. He smiled.

  “Good,” he said. “Good.”

  The fax machine rang, then the handshake tones kicked in. Allan watched as a piece of paper rolled out.

  Thorne opened the office door. “I’ll get out of your hair, Al. Let you get back to work.”

  “Later, Captain.”

  Allan picked up the paper. It was the sales invoice from Halloween-Mask.Com. He took it over to his desk and sat down.

  Todd Dory had ordered five items: a pair of white contact lenses, a pair of black sclera contacts, a zombie mask, a devil’s mask, and a scarecrow mask.

  Allan went back to the company website and ran the product number of the devil’s mask through their search box. That brought up a link he clicked on. When the screen shifted to a picture of the mask, he felt a kind of frisson, a sudden tingle of excitement that came and went. He straightened in his chair, tightening his hand on the mouse.

  The mask was the same one he’d found in Kaufman’s closet.

  Allan searched the zombie mask. The emaciated face was in a deep stage of rot. Black lips were pulled back over crooked teeth. Pieces of skin hung off the cheeks, exposing flesh and bone.

  The scarecrow mask came next. It had a burlap look with stitches across the mouth and part of the forehead. A rope was knotted around the neck.

  Allan realized the scarecrow and zombie masks had the eyeholes cut out, while the devil’s mask had its own eyes that covered those of the wearer. He leaned back from the desk, blowing out a long breath. Then he got up and paced around the office. Instincts and questions, so many questions, racked his brain.

  Halloween allowed ambitious burglars to go around disguised legitimately without attracting a second glance. Was that why Dory had purchased the masks? One for himself, one for Kaufman, and one for whom? Lee Higgins? Someone else? Two other members of the Black Scorpions—Jarret Shapiro and Sullivan McAda—had been in jail last October, awaiting their murder trial. So they were out of the picture.

  There had been a rash of burglaries throughout Halifax and down through Annapolis Valley on Halloween night last year. As far as Allan knew, most of them had never been solved. Were these guys responsible for some of them? It was certainly right up their alley.

  Allan leaned his hands on the edge of his desk. Lowering his head, he thought about the word corpse written on the handle of the axe used to kill Todd Dory. Wasn’t a zombie just an animated corpse?

  Devil. Corpse. The connection to the masks spoke volumes now. What had Dory and Kaufman done to deserve the fate handed to them? Was Higgins involved too? Did the killer have another murder weapon in his possession with scarecrow written on it? Was he waiting to use it?

  As much as Allan cringed at the thought, he knew a visit to Lee Higgins was in store.

  51

  Halifax, June 18

  3:00 p.m.

  Audra looked across the desk at Dr. Lela Mooney, a psychologist who carried out emotional and behavioral assessments of children at the IWK. It would be her job to evaluate Daphne and determine her suicide risk.

  “Bullying led to this,” Audra said.

  “You’re sure about that?”

  “Positive. My daughter made a video about it.”

  Brow furrowed, Mooney seemed to ponder that. She was an attractive woman with watchful green eyes and strong cheekbones. Wispy red hair framed her oval face. Her black skirt and short-sleeved blouse revealed the lean curves of someone who liked to pump a little iron at the gym.

  “Tell me what she said.”

  Audra drew a breath. “She talked about the rumors kids were spreading around about her. How they started getting p
hysical, pushing her around. How they posted stuff on her Facebook page. But she never got into exactly what they did.

  “She also mentioned how her friends abandoned her. I think that’s what hurt her the most. She had to face this by herself.”

  Mooney sat back, rolling a pen between her hands. “Where was this video?”

  “On her laptop.”

  “And Daphne never told you any of this in person?”

  “No.”

  “Have you noticed any recent changes in her behavior?”

  Feeling wretched, Audra said, “I did. So did my husband. We asked Daphne several times what was going on. But she wouldn’t open up to either one of us. I blame myself for not trying harder.”

  Mooney eyed her with clinical coolness. “How would you rate the relationship with your daughter?”

  “Very close.”

  “Same with the father?”

  “Yes.”

  “These changes you saw in Daphne. What were they?”

  Audra frowned. “She became evasive. Withdrawn. Sad. Daphne was always on the quiet side, but she became even quieter. She stayed in her room all the time. I noticed her best friend stopped coming over. I thought they got into a fight and maybe that’s why she was acting the way she did.”

  “Daphne was probably too ashamed and embarrassed to tell you about the bullying. Maybe even afraid of what you would do.”

  Briefly, Audra hesitated. Those were the same reasons she’d never told her own parents about the bullying she’d suffered at the school in Dryden.

  She said, “I’d always wished she trusted me enough to confide anything in me.”

  “That behavior is common at her age,” Mooney said. “Teens have a code of silence. It’s all about their peer group. They don’t want to be viewed as a snitch. More goes on in their little social lives than us parents even know about.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Is there any history of depression in your family?”

  “No.”

  “Your husband’s?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  Mooney leaned forward and scribbled in her folder.

  “Bullying is a potentiating risk factor for suicide,” she said without looking up. “It can cause depression and isolation. Kids who are Daphne’s age haven’t acquired the maturity or life skills to handle the problem on their own. They don’t realize silence is their worst enemy. That the bullying won’t last. They don’t see the bigger picture. They only focus on the now, and they just don’t know how to cope with the predicament they’re in. The only way out, unfortunately, is to end their lives.”