by Alex MacLean
“How long will you be gone?”
“Not sure, honey. Two, three days.” Audra threw her a smile. “Think you and your father can manage things until I get back?”
Daphne smiled a little. “I think so. We do okay when you go off on your courses.”
Audra laid out the blouse on the bed. “Yeah? I suppose you guys will be living off takeout until I get back.”
Daphne laughed. “Well...it’s healthy takeout.”
Audra smirked. “Pizza’s not really considered a health food, is it?”
“It depends on the toppings.”
“All that white flour.”
“There’s that. But we always stay away from the processed meats.”
“I know. I was just teasing you, honey.” Audra placed a sheet of tissue paper on top of the blouse and began folding the blouse over it. “I think there’s still some goulash in the freezer.”
Daphne nodded. “That stir-fry we had the other night is there.”
“There you go. If you guys get sick of pizza, you can always heat up that stuff. You know how to use the stove. Not sure your father does.”
“He tries.”
Audra chuckled. As she packed the blouse in a suitcase, she heard the back door close downstairs.
“Speak of the devil,” she said.
In moments, Daniel called out, “Hello.”
“We’re up here,” Daphne called back.
Audra heard him ascending the stairs. He stepped into the room.
“Hey, kiddo,” he said to Daphne. “How was school?”
“Good,” she said. “How was work?”
“Oh, same old routine.” Daniel looked over at Audra. “Hey, babe. I got your text. What’s this about you going out to BC?”
Audra double-checked the contents of the suitcase. “Work.”
“British Columbia?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Why?”
Audra said to Daphne, “Honey, can you check the casserole? Make sure it’s not burning.”
“Sure.”
After Daphne left, Audra said, “We’re going out to review a case. Look at a crime scene.”
Daniel frowned. “Way out there? Why?”
Audra ran her fingers through her hair. “Remember that girl found in Point Pleasant?”
“Yes.”
“Well, long story short, we made a potential link to another case in Ontario. The detective in that one—Denis Gagnon—flew down here to compare notes with us. He actually thinks two of his cases are related to ours, but that’s another story.
“We ended up reviewing other unsolved cases in Ontario, Quebec, and through the Maritimes. BC wasn’t even on our radar. But then out of the blue this case comes to our attention.”
Daniel took a seat on the edge of the bed. “It’s connected to Point Pleasant somehow?”
Audra shrugged. “That’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.”
“You don’t know?”
“We don’t even know if these other cases we picked as possibilities are related to ours. Or if Gagnon’s case or cases are related to ours.”
Daniel lowered his head, quiet for half a minute. “Any idea when you’ll be back?”
Audra zipped up the suitcase. “Two, three days. I can’t see us being any longer than that. Jesus, it’s taking us over eleven hours just to get there tomorrow.”
“You couldn’t get a direct flight?”
She set the suitcase by the doorway.
“Not for the three of us on the same flight,” she said. “We could if we wanted to fly out later in the day. Then we’re looking at Friday before we can get anything started.”
“Who’s all going?”
“Me, Al, and Denis,” Audra said. “Too bad I couldn’t take you guys. Daphne’s never seen BC.”
“Whereabouts in BC are you going?”
“Kimberley.”
Daniel nodded. “Heard of it.”
“Small place, from what I’ve been told.”
Daphne came into the room. “Casserole’s done. I took it out of the oven.”
“Great.” Audra smacked her hands together. “Let’s eat. I’m starving.”
31
Halifax, October 27
5:18 p.m.
There were fresh flowers on the graves. They bespoke the living presence of loved ones and their irreplaceable loss of a son, a daughter, and a granddaughter and niece.
The cool wind ruffled Allan’s hair as he stood by Seth Connors’s grave. He had never come here before, though he’d always meant to. The last time he stepped foot in Fairview Cemetery was a year ago when he had attended Mary Driscow’s interment.
Seth had been buried next to his wife, Camille. Their daughter, Lily, lay next to them. Her headstone was shaped like a single teardrop with an etching of stairs ascending into heaven. The inscription broke Allan’s heart. “Held for a moment. Loved for a lifetime.”
Life can be so short and tragic, he thought. No matter what your age is or what day it is.
He’d never forget that terrible night in the alley or the image of Seth Connors reaching his fingers up to the sleeve of his coat. Begging, almost, to let him die.
Allan grimaced. In the quiet, a few birds calling, he sensed someone behind him.
Turning, he saw a short woman with a round face and bob haircut. She had her hands tucked into the pockets of her trench coat. Allan had seen her before.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She smiled. “No, no. Take your time. I’m in no hurry.”
“I’m finished.”
She walked forward. “You friends of the family? I don’t think we’ve met.”
“We have,” he said. “Just not officially.”
“Oh?”
“The Halifax Infirmary,” he explained. “I saw you there a couple of times when Mr. Connors was in.”
Eyes narrowing, she searched his face. “I don’t remember. Sorry.”
“Quite all right.” He extended his hand. “Allan Stanton.”
Her hand paused halfway to his. Allan watched her mouth parting, as she seemed to recognize his name.
“You’re a police officer,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Dana Gates.” She gave him a weak handshake. “I’m...um...Seth’s sister.”
Allan saw her cheeks blush as though admitting that embarrassed her.
“You were the one there that night?” she asked.
Allan nodded.
“Were you with him at the end?”
Allan pictured Seth looking up at him.
“Wait,” Seth said. “Please.”
“What?”
“Just wait.”
Allan shook his head. “You need medical attention.”
“Please. For me.”
“I was,” Allan said softly.
“Did he suffer?”
“No. He passed peacefully.”
Dana’s chin trembled, and she turned her face away.
“I should’ve got him help,” she said. “I should’ve called Dr. Somerville.”
Allan frowned. “Help for what?”
Dana looked down at the grass. “He was sick.” She winced. “I called him that night. He was all panicky, out of breath. He’d been running around the house looking for Lily. He thought I had her. I told him to take his pills and I’d call him back to see how he was. That was the last time I spoke to him.”
“I don’t understand,” Allan said. “What medication was he on?”
Eyes wet, Dana faced him. “Diazepam. Risperdal.”
“I know what Diazepam is. Not familiar with Risperdal.”
“It’s an antipsychotic.” Dana inhaled. “Seth never got over Lily, you see. He couldn’t accept her death. He blamed himself for it, and I think that guilt did weird things to him.”
“Like what?”
“Like convincing him that Lily was still alive. Still living in the house with him.”
Allan shook his head. “I nev
er knew any of this.”
Dana nodded. “He called your department in March. Told them someone had abducted Lily. He was in a fit of rage, unable to calm himself down. They brought in a crisis team, and Seth ended up in a psych ward for a month.
“Everything seemed to be going well for him after that. The drugs seemed to be working. Then I visited him about a week before he died, and I saw those bars all over the windows. I knew something was going on. He had a place set at the table for Lily. Even had her teddy bear sitting in a chair.”
Allan felt the story punch a hole straight through his chest.
“Stuff happens to people we can’t control,” he said. “The mind is a fragile thing. Easily broken. Losing a child is the worst nightmare a parent can go through.”
Dana sniffled, blinked at the tears in her eyes.
“Your brother saved my life that night,” Allan added. “I’ll be forever grateful to him for that. Remember who he was, the good times.”
Dana gave him a quivery smile. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said and left her alone.
He reached the other side of the cemetery. The late-afternoon light fell gently on Mary Driscow’s headstone.
He had come, Allan supposed, because of his guilt. Much like the night he stopped by the Driscow home after Kate Saint-Pierre had been murdered.
Bill and Joyce Driscow shared a double-heart headstone beside their daughter. An etching on the bottom announced their wedding day as June 20, 1981. Bill’s name and birth date were already inscribed.
Taking a deep, pained breath, Allan closed his eyes. He thought about the flight to BC in the morning. Were they even on the right track or just on some wild goose chase?
He lingered at the gravesite for a few moments more, then he headed home to pack.
32
Cranbrook, October 28
2:18 p.m.
“Guillaume Mills was missing for four days before Search and Rescue found his body in Kimberley Nature Park,” Corporal Logan Scott said. “Dr. Raines had scheduled the autopsy for this morning.”
Allan opened his eyes. “Have you heard from him yet?”
Logan shook his head. “Could be still at it. He only does this work on an as-needed basis.”
From the backseat of the RCMP Suburban, Audra asked, “What’s he do in the meantime?”
“He’s a full-time veterinarian.”
Beside Audra, Denis tittered. “Oh, Jesus.”
“Don’t let that scare you,” Logan said. “Raines is trained in forensic science and crime-scene processing. He’s thorough. Very professional.”
“Oh, no doubt,” Denis said. “It’s just that when you said that I was wondering if he ever mistakenly gave you autopsy results from Fido.”
Logan glanced at Allan with a confused expression, and Allan shrugged.
Logan said, “Um...it hasn’t happened yet.”
“Good,” Denis said. “Good.”
Allan looked at the dash clock: 2:18 p.m. He set his watch back three hours to coincide with the time change.
They drove southeast on 95A. The highway cut through lush green foothills carpeted with spruce trees. Far off in the distance, mountain peaks traced the horizon. They were impressive to see but even more impressive to see from the plane on the way in.
Allan noticed a sign alongside the road displaying eleven kilometers left to reach Cranbrook.
“Where’s Kimberley?” he asked.
Logan jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Back that way about twenty kilometers. You missed the sign at the end of the airport road.” He smiled. “I caught you dozing off. The airport is kind of in between the two communities. Raines is in Cranbrook. That’s why we’re going there first.”
“I see. But you work out of the Kimberley detachment, right?”
“Yeah, five years now. Before that, I spent eight years in Vancouver. That’s a completely different animal, let me tell you. Kimberley is a vacation compared to Vancouver.”
“I bet,” Allan said. “Is this the first homicide at the nature park?”
Logan nodded. “First one, all right. Hopefully the last.”
He took an off-ramp that connected to the 95. Allan could see the first buildings of a community.
“Welcome to Cranbrook,” Logan said.
The road led past malls, car dealerships, and burger joints. Logan turned left at a set of lights onto Victoria Avenue and then promptly swung into the parking lot of a Husky gas station. He took out his cell phone, punching numbers on the keypad.
“Dr. Raines,” he said. “We’re in town... Awesome... See you in a few minutes.”
Hanging up, Logan said to Allan, “Raines will see us.”
He pulled the Suburban into traffic and headed down Victoria Avenue again. Allan saw more malls and dealerships, a few banks. Eventually, the road led into a residential area of houses and apartment buildings.
At another set of lights, Logan turned left and followed the hill up Second Street toward the East Kootenay Regional Hospital.
They found Dr. Raines in his office.
In his early sixties, he had a grandfatherly face with a bald and rough look—shiny bald head and a close-trimmed beard peppered with white.
“You have three with you,” he observed, getting up from his desk. “Three detectives, I presume?”
Logan nodded.
“All out of the same department?”
Logan indicated Allan and Audra. “These two are from Nova Scotia.” He gestured to Denis. “He’s from Ontario.”
Raines slowly moved his gaze to each face. “All interested in this one homicide?”
Allan said, “We’re checking for similarities with other cases we’ve been looking into.”
Raines nodded. “Corporal Scott told me that.”
After formal handshakes and introductions, they got down to business.
“I haven’t finished my report,” Raines said. “It’ll be next week.”
“Have you determined cause of death?” Audra asked.
“He was strangled.”
“Ligature?” Allan asked.
Raines shook his head. “A bar-like object pressed forcibly across his throat. Here, let me show you the contusion.”
He took out his digital camera and scrolled through the photos. Finding what he was looking for, he gave Allan the camera.
“I took those before the post-mortem,” he said.
The photo on the LCD screen showed a close-up of a bruise across the victim’s throat. Allan showed it to Audra and Denis.
“No pressure abrasion,” Raines explained. “No furrow in the skin. When I dissected the neck, I found severe damage to the structures. The larynx and cricoid cartilage were fractured. That tells me considerable force had been applied.”
Denis asked, “What object do you think the suspect used?”
“I’ll hazard a guess that it’s a hiking pole. They’re pretty commonplace at the park.”
“Were there other injuries?” Allan asked.
“Blunt-force trauma to the back of the neck. Fractured nasal bone.” Raines took the camera from Allan and began flipping through the photos again. “Here.”
As Allan looked at the bruise across the back of the neck, he felt a flutter in his gut.
“Look at this,” he said, showing it to Audra.
Her eyes lit up. “Whoa.”
Denis leaned in. “What is it?”
“Bruise,” Audra said. “Where have we seen this before?”
“Ted Taylor,” Denis said. “It’s almost identical.”
Logan asked, “Who’s that?”
“A victim in one of the unsolved cases we reviewed,” Denis told him. “He was murdered in Rushing River Provincial Park.”
“When?”
“Four years ago.”
Allan added, “The ME in that case suggested the weapon used had likely been a hiking pole or walking stick. The suspect had struck Taylor across the back of the neck, probably to
stun him first.”
Raines said, “That’s what I figured happened with Guillaume Mills. The suspect clubbed him on the back of the neck and nose before strangling him. How was Ted Taylor murdered?”
“Drowned,” Allan said.
Crossing his arms, Logan winced. “Christ.”
Allan continued to flip through the photos on the camera. He slowed at the ones showing the hands. The fingertips were still there.
Logan asked, “How many of these unsolved cases did you review?”
“Twenty, twenty-one,” Audra said. “We picked out six maybes.”
“Maybes?”
“Cases that could be related to ours.”
“And how many do you have of your own?”
“Two,” Audra said. “Denis has two as well.”
“That’s ten. This would make eleven. One man behind them all.”
Allan glanced up from the camera to see Logan tipping his head side to side, as if weighing the odds.
“Think it’s unlikely?” Audra said.
Logan shrugged. “Don’t know. Anything’s possible.”
“Look at McGray,” Allan said.
Audra nodded. “Michael Wayne McGray.”
“Where do I know that name?” Logan said.
“He’s from Nova Scotia,” Audra said. “Asserts himself as Canada’s worst serial killer. He was convicted of six murders but made claims to have killed a lot more right across the country.”
Logan nodded. “I remember now. He had investigators in Vancouver pulling unsolved homicides after he said he’d murdered two prostitutes there in the nineties.”
“That’s him.”
Allan handed Denis the camera. “A knife was McGray’s weapon of choice,” he said. “Not the guy we’re after. He doesn’t like it messy. He’s also not sexually motivated. Like McGray, the thrill of the murder seems to be his motivation.”
“Didn’t McGray prey on homosexuals, prostitutes?”
“Mostly.”
“Easier targets.”
“That’s where our guy differs,” Allan said. “We think he’s physically active. A jogger. Hiker. He must blend in with everyone else at these parks, because no one has taken notice of him.”
“One,” Audra corrected.
Allan thumbed his ear. “Huh?”
Audra gave him a half smile. “Liam Clattenburg.”