by Alex MacLean
Denis’s cell phone rang, and both Denis and Allan flinched at the sudden sound of it.
“Hello,” he answered.
Allan watched him listening to someone on the other end.
“Uh-huh,” Denis said. “Okay, that’s good. Thanks for informing me.”
He hung up and placed his phone on the console.
“That was Sergeant Gannon with the Halton Police,” he said. “A warrant for Stark’s arrest has been granted, as well as your warrant for his DNA.
“Gannon also said Stark never crossed any of the borders. And border officials have been alerted to detain him if he tries.”
Allan said, “Good. At least we know he’s still in the country.”
“Hopefully, he’s still in the area.”
“If he is,” Audra said, “he might just come home.”
“Here’s hoping Mrs. Stark never tipped him off,” Allan said.
At eight thirty, a fine mist fell, like curls of smoke riding the air currents. It mixed with the dirt on the windshield and bled down to the wipers. Denis squirted the washer fluid a few times to clear away the mess.
Minutes later, the mist became a drizzle punctuated by fat drops that plunked on the cruiser’s roof.
A car approached, headlights glancing off the glassy street. Allan leaned forward in his seat as he watched it coming closer. When the car turned into a driveway across the street from the Stark house, he expelled a low sigh.
“Shit,” he said. “I thought that might’ve been him.”
“Me too,” Denis said.
At eight forty-five, the clouds broke and a heavy rain swept down the street in dark sheets. It was a cold rain, too, and the windows of the cruiser quickly steamed up.
Denis turned over the engine and put the heater on high, adjusting the temperature so it wouldn’t roast them out.
Allan used the cuff of his coat to wipe at the condensation on his side of the windshield until the Stark house reappeared, blurry and distorted.
He saw the living-room light turn off, then the kitchen, and the house sat in darkness. Allan checked his watch: 8:55 p.m. He rubbed his chin, mystified. He thought it weird that Heidi Stark would be turning in so early, especially after learning about her husband.
His suspicions were answered a few minutes later when he saw the garage door on the right begin rising. He watched the Corolla back out into the driveway.
“She’s leaving,” he said.
Audra propped herself up between the headrests again. “I bet she’s afraid to stay home.”
“Of course she is.”
Heidi backed into the street and began driving away.
“Hang on,” Denis said, stamping on the gas.
The cruiser shot forward. Denis switched on the grille lights, and the red-and-blue strobe flashed off the surrounding houses.
Heidi pulled the Corolla over. Denis, Allan, and Audra stepped out into the rain. Denis reached the driver’s door first. Heidi lowered the window halfway.
“Mrs. Stark,” Denis said, “where ya going?”
“My mother’s,” she said. “I can’t stay there.”
“Has he called you?”
Heidi shook her head. “Never heard from him.”
“Do you find that odd?”
She lowered the window some more and poked her face out, blinking against the rain.
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “He was pretty mad last night.”
Allan peered through the rear window at the two little girls sitting in the backseat. Jade gave him a smile and waved. Allan smiled and waved back. Jaleesa stuck her tongue out at him and started laughing.
“Where’s your mother live?” Audra asked Heidi.
“London.”
“How far’s that away?”
“Two hours.”
Denis said, “I have your cell number if I need to get in touch.” He slapped a hand on the roof twice. “Careful driving, Mrs. Stark.”
As she drove off, the three of them returned to the cruiser. Shutting the door beside him, Allan wiped the rain from his face and eyes, smoothed out his hair. Denis dabbed his head with a handkerchief.
“I don’t think he’s gonna show,” Audra said.
“Not likely,” Allan said. “We don’t know what’s going on inside his mind right now. And we don’t know if Mrs. Stark mentioned us in her voice mail.”
Denis said, “She didn’t when we were there. Just tried to get him to come home.”
“Yeah, but she called him again when we went outside, remember. We don’t know if she left another voice mail or not. And she might’ve called him a few times since.”
“So do we call it a night?” Audra asked. “Head back to the hotel?”
Denis looked at his watch. “Want to give it another hour?”
“Why not,” she said.
Tilting his seat back, Allan closed his eyes. He felt tired, enervated. It was a feeling he’d been growing accustomed to. Lately, he’d just been tired in general. Tired of the stress. Tired of the nightmares. Tired of the sleepless nights. Tired of all the senseless deaths and all the scumbags who caused them. Tired of the sheer effort it took to crawl out of bed every morning and face another day.
When this case was finally over, Allan knew he would have to get help. Another appointment with Dr. Judy Galloway was in store. He regretted never telling her the truth from the beginning; he could’ve gotten the proper treatment he needed months ago.
The radio suddenly squawked to life. “Copy unit six-zero-six-five.”
Denis perked up in his seat. “Shit. I think that’s our car.” He keyed the mike. “Go ahead.”
“One of our patrol units just spotted your suspect’s vehicle sitting in the parking lot of Starbridge Suites. Gray Toyota Camry. Plate number: Bravo-Foxtrot-Sierra-Juliet-six-nine-zero. Car is registered to a Jacob Miles Stark.”
Allan asked, “Where’s Starbridge Suites?”
Denis pressed the mike again. “Location. Over.”
“Wyecroft Road. Here in Oakville.”
“Is that close to your department?”
“Affirmative. One point five klicks away.”
Denis tapped an index finger against his lips. “Still doesn’t help.”
Allan gave him a smile. “Lost, aren’t you?”
“A bit, yeah. I honestly don’t think I can find my way back to the department in Oakville.”
“Well,” Allan said. “Don’t look at me.”
Audra said, “What about the other crew on site with us?”
Denis got on the radio. “Copy unit six-zero-two-eight.”
The radio squawked. “Go ahead.”
“Do you know where Wyecroft Road is?”
“Affirmative. Drive by it every day.”
“Can you lead us there?”
“Wilco.”
Dispatch radioed back. “Unit six-zero-six-five, do you want Tactical?”
Denis looked over at Allan with his eyebrows raised.
Allan said, “I’d really like it if we were the arrest team.”
Denis nodded. “You and me both.”
He got on the radio. “Negative.”
“Copy that.”
Through the windshield, Allan watched a police cruiser speed down the street toward them. It stopped next to the driver’s door, and the window lowered, revealing the boyish face of a constable. Denis put down his window.
“Ready to go, Detective?” the constable asked.
“You lead the way, son.”
As the cruiser sped off, Denis made a U-turn in the street and stepped on the gas.
“We got him,” he said. “We got the son of a bitch.”
46
Oakville, November 1
9:10 p.m.
After stalling much of the evening, I finally decide I’m not going home. I call instead.
There’s no answer on the home phone. I hang up as my recorded message begins telling me I have stepped away from the office.
; Maybe Heidi has the girls in the tub. On a school night, she makes sure they’re in bed by nine thirty.
I dial her cell number. She answers on the fourth ring.
“Jacob,” she says.
I skip the formalities and say, “Let me speak to the girls.”
A long silence hangs over the line between us. In the background, I can hear the sounds of tires slapping through rain and the humming of a car engine.
“They’re both asleep,” Heidi says eventually.
“You in your car?”
She pauses. “Yes.”
“Where’re you going?”
She exhales through the receiver, doesn’t tell me. I already know anyhow. There’s only one place she would be going at this hour—her mother’s.
“The girls have school tomorrow,” I say.
“They can miss a couple days.”
“Why’d you leave?” I ask. “I thought you wanted to talk.”
“Where are you?”
“At a hotel.”
Another moment of silence. “The police are looking for you, Jacob.”
Her words bring me out of the chair. “What?”
“They showed up at our door tonight with a search warrant. They were pretty specific on what they were looking for.”
“What’d they take?”
“Your computer,” she tells me. “Some of your hiking poles. That roll of rope you had in the garage. They were also looking for your blue hoodie and Adidas sweatpants. I couldn’t find those for them. They even asked me if you owned a pair of Merrell hiking boots.”
A chill works up the back of my neck and across my face. I feel the strength flooding out of my legs.
“What did you do, Jacob?”
“So,” I say, “you never wanted to talk things over. You were trying to get me to go home because they were there.”
“They asked me to. What was I supposed to do?”
I close my eyes. “Did they tell you why they wanted that stuff?”
“Evidence.”
“For what?”
“They think you murdered someone.”
“Really? Who?”
“Kate,” she says. “Kate Saint-Pierre.”
Opening my eyes, I lick my lips. My mind is a whirring jumble of thoughts.
“That night you came home from Halifax,” Heidi says, “you called me her. You called me Kate.”
I find myself unable to speak.
“Who was she?” Heidi asks. “What happened?”
I shut off the light in the room and walk to the window. Peeling back the drapes, I look outside.
Heidi is still talking. Her voice sounds small and distant now, as if it’s coming from a mile away.
“Tell me it’s not true. Tell me this is all a big mistake.”
In the parking lot three stories below, I see a police car idling right behind my car. There’s a cop standing by my driver’s door, jabbing the beam of a flashlight through the window. A clear cover encases his cap to keep it dry, and his black raincoat is slick with rain.
“Jacob?”
The cop moves to the passenger window, shining the beam inside. He straightens up then returns to his own car.
“Jacob, are you there?”
“I’m here.”
“Tell me this is a mistake.”
Through the passenger window of the police car, I can see the soft glow from a swivel-mount laptop. The cop’s fingers are typing away on the keyboard.
“Jacob?”
“It’s not a mistake, Heidi.”
“What?”
“I killed her. I strangled her with a piece of that rope the cops took.”
A sharp intake of breath comes across the line.
“Good-bye, Heidi,” I say and hang up.
47
Oakville, November 1
10:18 p.m.
Audra watched Allan jack a round into the chamber of his Beretta before slipping the pistol back into his shoulder holster. There was a cold cast to his eyes, almost fierce.
She nudged his elbow. “Hey, you okay?”
He turned his face slowly toward her and said in a flat tone, “All right. You?”
Audra appraised him for a brief moment. No, he didn’t seem all right. That much she could tell. She had no idea what was going on inside his head, but his look alone concerned her.
“I’m fine,” she said.
He gave her a curt nod. “Good.”
They stood in the parking lot of Starbridge Suites. Denis was inside, gathering information from staff. The two officers who had led them to the hotel stood near their cruiser, talking to one another. Their names were Mark Beckett and Théo Latour.
Beckett was a young kid with a smooth face and worried eyes. Latour was a beefy man with a ruddy complexion and sloping shoulders. His buzz cut looked as if it could prick your fingers.
Two additional police units had arrived and parked by the exits.
The rain had stopped, but murky clouds continued to roil overhead, threatening to open up again. A cold breeze stirred the naked branches of the small maple trees, shaking off a patter of rain. It hit the cruiser’s hood in a plunk of drops.
As Audra tucked her hands into her jacket pockets, she saw Denis coming across the parking lot.
“Stark has room three-oh-five,” he called out. “Third floor.”
Audra said, “Does hotel staff know if he’s in there?”
“No. Only one girl on the front desk tonight. She called up to the room, but no one answered. She said she would unlock the door if we need her to. She’d prefer that to us kicking it in.”
“Stark’s car is here,” Allan said.
Denis raised his eyebrows. “Doesn’t mean he is.”
Audra looked up at the bank of windows running along the third floor of the hotel. About half of them were lighted; the others were dark. She wondered if Jacob Stark could be up there watching them as they spoke.
Allan said, “He won’t answer the phone if he knows we’re after him.”
Denis leaned his head toward him. “You think Mrs. Stark told him about us?”
Allan turned his palms up. “Does it matter?”
“I bet she did,” Audra said. “She didn’t want to believe what we told her. Kept saying there must be a mistake. Put yourself in her shoes. Curiosity would get the better of her. It would me. I’d want to hear his side of the story.”
Denis glanced down at his feet, shuffling them a little, and tugged on his left earlobe.
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” he said.
“Regardless,” Allan said, “we’re not going to know if he’s up there by dillydallying out here.”
Audra threw him a glance. From the tension in his face and rigid posture of his body, he looked ready to burst out of his skin.
No, she thought, he was definitely not all right.
“Let’s do this,” Denis said. He called over to Beckett and Latour. “You boys come with us.”
The five of them went into the hotel lobby. The young woman behind the front desk looked to be in her midtwenties—pretty, with long auburn hair swept over one shoulder. Her name tag read: Megan.
“I have the key,” she said, holding it up.
“Great,” Denis said. “Can I have that and return it when we leave?”
Megan frowned. “Ah...okay. You don’t want me to open up for you?”
Denis shook his head. “It’s safer if we do it, miss. We don’t want you up there in case things get hairy.”
Megan tossed him the key.
“Thank you, miss.”
They rode the elevator to the third floor. The doors chimed open to a long corridor with cream walls and dark carpet. Room 305 was at the end.
Beckett and Latour positioned themselves on the left side of the door. They removed their pistols and held them at the low ready. Audra joined Allan on the right side of the door. By reflex, she pulled out her Sig as Allan took out his Beretta and dropped it down behind his leg.
&n
bsp; Denis rapped his knuckles hard on the door four times, and the sound carried down the quiet corridor.
They waited. No one answered.
Denis knocked again.
“Mr. Stark. This is Detective Denis Gagnon with the Ontario Provincial Police. Open up, please.”
Still no answer.
“Hear anything inside?” Audra asked him.
Denis pressed his ear to the door for a moment then shook his head. “Nope. All quiet.”
Inserting the key into the lock, he slowly nudged the door with his foot. It opened about an inch before the swing-bar lock inside caught it.
“He’s home,” Allan said.
“Mr. Stark,” Denis called through the crack. “Police. Open up. We know you’re in there.”
More silence.
All at once, Allan let out a groan, and then he rammed his shoulder into the door. There came a loud crack then the clang of metal as a piece of the lock hit the floor. Raising his pistol out in front of him, he rushed in.
Audra followed close behind.
The inside resembled a one-bedroom apartment—living room, kitchenette, and separate bedroom. They found Jacob Stark in the bedroom sitting at a desk and writing in a journal. He was dressed in a white shirt and black pants. Audra found herself staring at the faint scratch on his left cheek.
“Put the pen down,” Allan ordered, aiming the pistol at Stark’s head.
Stark glanced over at him with an apathetic expression. “Almost done.”
Denis came around the side of the bed, Beckett and Latour beside him.
“Why didn’t you answer the door?” he asked.
“Thought I’d enjoy a few more seconds of freedom.”
Audra said, “So you know why we’re here?”
Stark continued to scribble on the page. “Figured as much.”
“Your wife told you.”
Quiet, he gave a listless shrug.
“We have a warrant for your arrest,” Denis said. “For the murder of Kate Saint-Pierre on October seventeenth. In Halifax, Nova Scotia.”
Audra watched Stark’s reaction, but he never batted an eye at the charge. Just continued to write.
“You need not say anything,” Denis said. “You have nothing to hope from any promise or favor and nothing to fear from any threat whether or not you say anything.