by Alex MacLean
“Everyone had wonderful things to say about her. Nothing negative. She was a smart, considerate girl who was a bit of an extrovert. She liked people.”
“Did she have a boyfriend?”
“Not at the time of her death.”
“Any recent breakups?”
“One a few months earlier. His name was Anthony Belding. According to Mary’s parents, he was her first and only boyfriend. They met in university. Dated for about three years before Anthony decided he wasn’t ready to make a real commitment.
“I cleared him as a suspect. And every other male in Mary’s social circle.”
“What about computer records?”
“Her social media footprint was light. Texts and emails to friends and family. Some activity on Facebook. Nowhere else.”
“Nothing valuable?”
“No.”
“Who was this prime suspect you had?”
Allan made a face as if he tasted something bitter. “Oh, that guy.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Oh yeah.” Allan picked up a folder from the pile and handed it to Audra. “Gary Strickland. He was a bit of a transient. Lived in different places throughout the province over the years. Even here in Halifax for a time. His last residence was New Glasgow, where he was working as an electrician until being fired for stealing jewelry from a client’s home.”
Audra opened the folder to see the mug shot of a round-faced man with a sloping forehead and soft chin. He had trim black hair on the sides and a patch of bare skin on top. An ordinary-looking man, you could say. But it was the eyes—to Audra, they were black pits, cold and lifeless, like a shark’s.
“Dude looks serious,” she said.
Allan lifted an eyebrow. “Seriously nuts, maybe.”
“How’d he wind up on your radar?”
“ViCLAS,” he said. “Shortly after I submitted the Driscow case to them, they made a potential link to an unsolved rape and murder from three months earlier. The victim was Ashley Lynn Decker. A twenty-two-year-old cashier from New Glasgow.
“The case appeared related to Mary Driscow’s. Ashley had been raped and strangled with a ligature. The suspect also left her posed in a near-identical way as Mary had been. When I viewed the crime scene photos, I got a chill. The similarities were that uncanny.”
Audra asked, “But there were differences?”
Allan nodded. “Weave patterns in the ligature marks were different. Ashley’s body wasn’t found in a park but a wooded area on the outskirts of New Glasgow.
“Investigators found evidence she’d been getting ready for bed when the suspect showed up at her door. The bathtub was half-filled. Pajamas were set out on the bed. The blankets were turned back.
“It seemed the suspect gained entry under false pretenses and forced Ashley outside in her socked feet to an awaiting vehicle.
“There were no signs of a struggle. No forced entry. Nothing was taken. Ashley’s purse was on the coffee table right in plain sight. Credit cards and loose cash still inside.”
Audra said, “I take it she didn’t live in a secure building.”
“Correct.”
“How many units in it?”
“Twelve.”
“And none of the neighbors heard anything? Saw anything?”
“The ones below her heard water running in the bathroom around nine-thirty,” Allan said. “It stopped a short time later. They never heard any sounds after that.”
Audra mulled the story over. “What about transfer evidence from the suspect’s vehicle?”
“Nothing. But Ashley’s body had lain out in the elements for several days before its discovery.”
“So was this Strickland fella a prime suspect from day one?”
Allan shook his head. “No one even knew of him at the time. And rightfully so. He only had a couple of summary convictions in his past. Both for public intoxication.
“All that changed last April when he tried to abduct a young woman named Lisa Peyton.” Allan retrieved another folder and gave it to Audra. “This is her statement.”
As Audra began to read the report, she envisioned the events of that harrowing night through Lisa Peyton’s own words...
10
New Glasgow, April 16
8:46 p.m.
Lisa leaned in close to the dresser mirror, carefully applying eyeliner to the corners of her bright-blue eyes.
When she heard the doorbell chime, a warm glow of excitement spread through her body. The clock on the bedside table read 8:46. Richard, her fiancé, was early tonight.
Lisa smiled.
She called out, “Just a sec.”
The doorbell rang again—twice, in quick succession.
“Hold your horses. I’m coming.”
Lisa hurried, clasping earrings to her lobes. Then she paused to give her reflection a quick appraisal before she hustled to the door. She sprung it open without checking the peephole and found herself face to face with the black barrel of a revolver.
Lisa hitched a breath.
Behind the revolver stood a doughy man in jeans and a flannel shirt.
Too afraid to move, Lisa watched the fitful movements of his eyes, darting around the living room, over her body, lingering on the swell of her breasts beneath her sweater.
“Who...what...what do you want?”
“Shut up!”
The man stepped forward, and Lisa stepped back, instinctively lifting her hands up in the air.
“Please. Don’t hurt me.”
The man’s face seemed to twitch, a spasm of anger that flashed and vanished in an instant.
“Shut up, I said.” He put the gun to her head. “Make a sound, and I’ll shoot you dead. Got it?”
Lisa felt her legs turn to jelly. She forced back the scream bubbling up her throat.
The man moved up beside her, brushing his nose across her hair and then flicking his tongue along the outer edge of her ear. The smell of rum filled Lisa’s nostrils. Heart pounding, she watched him disappear from the corner of her eye.
Then came the hard nudge of the revolver into her back.
“Move.”
She obeyed.
As she reached the doorway, she stopped.
“Where...where’re we going?”
“You’ll find out.”
“But my shoes.”
“Make it snappy.”
After she slipped them on, the man pushed her through the doorway. Arms stiff at her sides, Lisa skittered her eyes to the left and right. There were no cars coming, no pedestrians on the sidewalks. Even Connie and Scott in the duplex next door weren’t home. Lisa noticed a dark car parked at the curb. The shape of it reminded her of those muscle cars the cops drove.
Without warning, the man placed his free hand on her shoulder, turning her around so she was facing him.
“Close the door,” he said.
She did, and then the man turned her around again, pushing her toward the dark car. He led her to the driver’s door, reached around her, and yanked it open.
“Get in,” he said.
“No, no, no,” Lisa said, fighting back tears. “Please.”
The man tapped her head with the revolver. “Don’t fuck around.”
Lisa slid in behind the wheel and closed the door. Through the windshield, she watched him round the front of the car. As he climbed onto the passenger seat, he dangled a set of keys in front of her face.
“You’re driving,” he said.
“Where?”
Leaning over, the man pressed the muzzle of the revolver behind her ear. “No questions.”
Lisa fumbled the key into the ignition. The motor started. The headlights brightened the street.
Leather covered the steering wheel, making it feel thick under her hands. As she drove away, her gaze shifted to the rearview mirror, where she saw Richard’s car pull into her driveway. The dash clock read 9:00. Right on time.
Lisa moved her hand to the horn, but she couldn’t make herself
press it. The man would surely kill her. And what about Richard? She couldn’t jeopardize his life.
Lisa looked back to the street, tears welling in her eyes. This couldn’t be happening. In June, she would be walking down the aisle between the white columns of the church, accepting Richard’s hand in marriage. They would be flying off to Jamaica for their honeymoon.
Would she miss it all? What was this man going to do to her? Why hadn’t he concealed his identity? Did that mean he planned to kill her after all?
Sudden, uncontrollable sobs began to rack her body.
“Quiet.”
The man twisted the muzzle into her skin behind her ear. Lisa winced at the pain, bending her neck away.
In a split second, everything turned chaotic.
The steering wheel jerked out of Lisa’s hands. The car veered hard to the right, the front tire then the rear jumping over the curb onto the grass strip.
“Jesus,” the man said. “Jesus Christ.”
A telephone pole came at them in a rush. Quickly, the man grabbed hold of the wheel and swung the car back onto the street. The pole whipped past them by inches.
“Stupid bitch!” the man shrieked. “You trying to fucking kill us?”
Lisa cringed at the loudness of his voice. She took control of the wheel again, staring straight ahead.
On the other side of the street, a minivan slowed, the driver’s curious face pressed to the window.
Looking back, Lisa mouthed a silent “Help me.”
She watched the minivan continue on, its red taillights receding into the dark with all her hopes.
Her mind wrestled with ideas of how to escape. Maybe she could open the door and dive out. Floor the gas pedal and drive them into a ditch or even a pole like the one they’d missed a few minutes ago. But fear drained her courage.
Wiping her eyes, she composed herself the best she could. She had to focus on her own survival. She would play along with this man. Wait for her chance to escape.
“Pull over,” he said.
Lisa guided the car to the curb. Her arms shook so badly, it took an effort just to turn the steering wheel.
The man grabbed the gearshift and rammed it into park.
“We’re switching places,” he said.
From the corner of her eye, Lisa saw him tuck the revolver into his waistband.
“Look at me,” he said.
Swallowing, she turned to him.
“You try anything, and...” He put an index finger to his temple and curled it back toward his palm. “Understand?”
She gave him a small nod.
He turned the car off and removed the key from the ignition. Then he got out, depressing the lock before closing the door. He went around to the driver’s side. Lisa scooched over the console to the passenger seat, staring at the door handle. A voice in her head told her to go for it. Open the door and run. Run like you have never run in your life. She just couldn’t summon her body to make that initial move.
As the man got in, Lisa noticed the revolver in his hand again. He pointed it at her, the dark eye of the muzzle an inch from her face.
“Put on your seat belt,” he said.
Lisa struggled to get the buckle to snap but finally got it after several tries.
The man started the car and drove off. Lisa sat there, rigid. Her heart pounded in her ears.
She watched as he cut across the George Street Bridge to Westville Road. She realized he was heading for the highway. He could be taking her anywhere, kill her at his own convenience.
Their destination became a remote wooded lot twenty miles outside New Glasgow. Lisa saw nothing but trees and the unused back road. Terror swam inside her brain, making her light-headed.
The man shut off the car and switched on the dome light. Then he reached under his seat and retrieved a black toiletry bag with a single zipper over the top.
Lisa didn’t want to think about what he had inside it.
With an unsettling calm, the man said, “Get out. You try to run, and I’ll shoot you right in the back.”
Lisa unbuckled the seat belt, opened the door. Her knees felt ready to collapse under he weight of her body as she stepped out.
The night was clear, crisp, and windless under a crescent moon.
The man climbed out of the other side and circled to the trunk, where he set the bag on the lid. Unzipping it, he dipped a hand inside.
Lisa’s heart lurched as she watched him.
The man revealed a camera.
“Say cheese,” he said.
The sudden flash blinded Lisa, and she fell against the car, blinking her eyes. She could hear the man laughing at her. A kind of maniacal chuckle only a psychopath could make.
When her vision came back after a good minute or more, she saw him standing in the same spot by the trunk, the camera still in his hands. A sinister smile was stretched across his face.
He pressed the camera to his face again. Lisa imagined him staring at her miniaturized image through the viewfinder as he framed his next shot. She shut her eyes against two more flashes.
The man put the camera away. Lisa tensed as he approached her with the bag and revolver in one hand. He motioned for her to turn around.
“Please,” Lisa said. “Why are you doing this?” She looked at his fingers. No ring. “Don’t you have a girlfriend?”
He stopped, his lips curling.
“Fuck you,” he said. “Trying to control things here? Is that what you’re up to?”
“No, no. Not at all.”
“Bullshit.”
He grabbed hold of her arm with steely fingers and spun her around. Then he punched the muzzle of the revolver between her shoulder blades, pushing her forward.
He marched her into a thick stand of trees. Lisa kept her hands out in front of her to move away the branches in the dark. Her chest began to ache from her heart beating so fast.
The woods were chilly. They smelled of dampness and spring growth coming to life. The recent thaw had made the ground feel like a sponge under her feet. Here and there, patches of snow remained in spots where the sun’s rays couldn’t reach.
Eventually, they came to a clearing. It was about the size of a football field, covered in a sea of flattened yellow grass.
Lisa regarded the trees on the other side. They were maybe one hundred fifty feet away. Too far. She’d be shot in the back long before she made it to them.
“End of the road,” the man said and smacked her across the face.
Lisa pitched back to the ground. The blow left her stunned, and she lay there, trying to recover her bearings. The left side of her face felt numb. Sensation came back gradually in painful throbs. In her mouth, she tasted blood.
She gazed up at the man. His face floated above her, his eyes narrowed to slits, his mouth contorted into a grim rictus. The moon behind him silvered the fringes of his hair.
He raised his fist; Lisa cringed.
“Bitch,” he said and swung.
Lisa folded her arms around her head. One of them took the blow, and she cried out in pain.
When another strike didn’t follow, she looked up. The man stood over her, looking down, his head eclipsing the moon.
“Take your clothes off,” he said.
Lisa’s mind went into a whirlwind.
Oh my God, she thought. He’s going to rape me.
Deep down, she knew the whole time it was leading to this. She just never wanted to admit it to herself.
“Do it,” the man said.
“No.” Lisa skidded away from him on the seat of her jeans. “I won’t.”
The man thrust his jaw forward. “You stubborn bitch. I said take your clothes off.”
“Please,” Lisa said. “Let me go. I won’t tell anyone about this. I mean it.”
The man shook his head, muttering something under his breath.
Lisa watched him set the black bag on the ground. Then he took a step forward with his right leg, leveling the revolver at her, his fre
e hand anchoring in a pants pocket.
Paralyzed, Lisa watched him thumb back the hammer. Her mouth fell open. Her hands rose.
“Please...”
All at once, the revolver jumped in his hand. There was a loud pop and a bright muzzle flash. Every muscle in her body tensed as she braced herself for the impact of the bullet.
Nothing seemed to have hit her. She felt no pain anywhere. Had he missed? How could he at such a close range?
Tears sprang to her eyes. She noticed with humiliation that she had wet herself.
“Fired over your head,” the man said. “To show you this gun is loaded.”
He squatted, patting the ground around him. Seconds later, he found the black bag.
Lisa’s eyes widened as she watched him take out a piece of rope.
Then, without warning, he pounced on her.
The weight of him crushed Lisa. Unable to breathe, she struggled to push him off. She writhed, clawing at his eyes.
Averting his head, he caught one of her wrists, twisted it, and pinned it to the damp grass.
“So you wanna play rough, huh? I’d like nothing more.”
His hand lifted into the air and shot down. The butt of the revolver struck the corner of Lisa’s eye, sending a spatter of dots across her field of vision.
Dazed, her mind didn’t register the rope being looped around her neck until her air supply was suddenly choked off.
She tried to pry the rope from her neck. Couldn’t. She beat on his forearms, scratched the back of his wrists until she swore they bled. But the more she fought, the more he pulled on the rope.
She could feel the hard barrel of the revolver against her jaw. If only she could get it away from him. Turn the tables.
Through her blur of tears, she could see his face bent to hers. The feral look had returned to his eyes. His nostrils flared with each breath.
“Bitch,” he hissed. “I’m gonna make you feel some real pain.”
He tightened the rope more.
Lisa felt helpless. Her carotids throbbed against the rope. Pressure was building up in her head, swelling her face and bulging her eyes. Her vision was dimming. She could feel herself spiraling into darkness at a million miles an hour.
No, she thought. It can’t end like this.
But it was. She knew it.