Stanton- The Trilogy

by Alex MacLean

  “Anything you do or say may be used as evidence. Do you understand?”

  “Just the one charge?” Stark asked.

  Denis frowned. “Well, so far. We also have you under suspicion in a whack of other murder cases. Mary Driscow, Guillaume Mills, Li Chen, Hailey Pringle, Ted Taylor, Marian Duffy, Lionel Selman, Dave McNeil, Mollie Corradetti, Karen Leacock, Gilda Melanson.”

  Audra noticed Stark had reacted to only one name with a pause and a frown—Hailey Pringle.

  “Sounds like we’ve both been busy.” Setting the pen down, he leaned back in the chair. “Was that eleven people?”

  “Yes.”

  “You sure on that number? On those names?”

  Denis put his pistol away. “You were in Huntsville when Li Chen was murdered. You stayed at the Huntsville Inn. Remember?”

  Stark lowered his gaze, said nothing.

  Pistol still aimed at Stark’s head, Allan said, “You came home with a big gash by your eye. Told your wife you broke up a fight at Moose Delaney’s. Only you didn’t. Li Chen gave you that gash, didn’t he? That’s why you cut off his fingertips. So no one would find your DNA. The same reason you cut off Kate Saint-Pierre’s fingertips. Because she gave you that scratch on your face.”

  Stark looked up at him, and a tiny smirk lifted the corners of his mouth. He appeared unnervingly relaxed.

  “You fucked up with Mary Driscow, though,” Allan continued. “You left DNA on her. And we have your profile.”

  Stark cocked his head to the side. “Sure it’s mine?”

  “We will be soon enough.”

  “Mary Driscow.”

  “Yeah,” Allan said. “Remember her?”

  The smirk on Stark’s face widened into a smile. “I remember them all. Each name. Each face. Each little noise they made. Each look of fear and confusion they gave me when they realized it was game over.”

  Audra felt her breath catch in her throat. Everyone else stared on in stunned disbelief.

  Closing his eyes, Stark inhaled a deep breath through his nose, as if he smelled something pleasant.

  “Strawberries,” he said softly. “That’s what I remember most about Mary Driscow. She smelled just like strawberries.”

  Audra tensed as she noticed Allan’s index finger leave the frame of the Beretta and curl around the trigger.

  “You bastard,” he said through clenched teeth. “Do you realize how many lives you destroyed?”

  Stark looked at him again, and whatever human element his eyes held before suddenly disappeared into a swirl of something dark and hateful. His smile tapered off only by a fraction.

  “Answer me,” Allan said.

  “More than you know, cop.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Stark laughed, the sound sudden and harsh in the small room, and it seemed to light a fire in Allan’s eyes. With slow deliberation, he pressed the muzzle of his Beretta to Stark’s forehead. Stark never so much as flinched.

  Raising his hands in the air, Denis took a step back. “Hey, take it easy, Detective.”

  Beckett and Latour shifted their stances and traded worried glances.

  Audra said, “Al, what are you doing?”

  Stark’s gaze slid over to her then back to Allan. The smile remained on his face.

  “Do it, Al,” he urged. “You know you want to.”

  “Oh, I want to,” Allan said. “Believe me.”

  Audra watched a bead of sweat roll down the side of Allan’s face. The muscles in his jaw pulsed like a rapid heartbeat.

  “Al,” Audra said. “We got him. Don’t do this.”

  “Don’t listen to her, Al,” Stark said. “Go ahead. See how exciting it feels.”

  Audra spun on him. “You shut your mouth.”

  “What was that you just told me?” Stark said to Denis. “I have nothing to fear from any threat whether or not I say anything? What do you call this?”

  Slowly, Allan withdrew the Beretta and holstered it. Turning away, he walked out of the hotel room.

  “Al,” Audra called after him, but he kept going.

  Denis forced Stark to his feet and slapped the handcuffs on him.

  “You don’t know how much this makes me happy,” he said. “Finally hearing these bracelets click on your wrists.”

  Stark looked back over his shoulder at him. “Small things for small minds.”

  Denis paused. “Mr. Jacob Stark, I am arresting you for the murder of Kate Saint-Pierre. It is my duty to inform you that you have the right to retain and instruct counsel of your choice in private and without delay.

  “Before you decide to answer any questions concerning this investigation, you may call a lawyer of your choice or get free advice from Duty Counsel. Do you understand?”

  “Understood, Kojak,” Stark said.

  Denis shook his head. “You’re not the first to call me that, smart ass.” He turned to Beckett and Latour. “Take him over to headquarters. We’ll be there in a bit.”

  As they began ushering Stark away, Denis called out to them. “Officers, wait.”

  Beckett and Latour stopped and turned to him.

  “Stupid question,” Denis said, “but where is headquarters again?”

  Latour smirked then hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Take a right at the traffic lights outside. Keep going until you come to North Service Road. It’ll be at the third set of lights you hit. Headquarters is up there on the left. Can’t miss it.”

  After Denis thanked them, he turned to Audra with an incredulous look on his face.

  “What was that with Detective Stanton?” he said. “I honestly thought he was going to shoot that guy.”

  So had Audra, but she kept the thought to herself.

  “He’s had a rough few months,” she said.

  Denis lifted his eyebrows. “Oh?”

  She nodded and left it at that. Walking over to the desk, she picked up the journal Stark had been writing in. It had a black leather cover and a tie fastener. There were five identical journals piled neatly on the edge of the desk.

  She began to read the last entry:

  The cop doesn’t leave. He’s obviously watching my car in case I try to make a run for it. And where would I go?

  I guess I always knew my luck would run out eventually. It does for everyone. The past ten years have left me with a lot of pleasant memories that I can pull out at random and soak in warm reminiscence. Those will get me through the tough times. Who knows, maybe the next phase of my life will bring me more memories to bask in. I know I won’t be able to tamp my urges for long. They will get the better of me sooner or later.

  Two more police cars pull into the parking lot. They stop momentarily on each side of the original car. Then they drive off around the building and disappear from my sight. I don’t see them leave on the streets, so I assume they’re hanging out back, keeping an eye on the fire exits.

  I wonder who’s going to come up to my room. Maybe they’re sending in SWAT.

  Maybe not.

  Two more police cars arrive. These park under the trees at the far side of the parking lot. Two uniformed cops emerge from one. Three plainclothes cops emerge from the other. One is a female with blond hair. The other two are males. One has dark hair; the other is bald. He looks just like Kojak. He crosses the parking lot and goes into the hotel. A few minutes later, the phone in my room rings.

  I feel my freedom is growing short. Do I have any regrets? Other than getting caught, I have only one—the girls. I’m going to miss them. I wonder if Heidi will bring them to visit me. Probably not.

  She’s going to have a hard time making ends meet. But I’m sure she’ll manage. For the sake of the girls, I hope she does.

  Heidi was right about one thing—I couldn’t look after Jade and Jaleesa properly. I couldn’t give up my job to stay home with them. I guess I never appreciated all Heidi did.

  The cops are in my room now—five of them—pointing their guns at me. The dark-haired one in a twe
ed coat is telling me to put the pen down. Kojak is asking me why I never answered the door. Why make it easy for them?

  This will be the final log in my journals. I hope to start a new set once I’m settled in my new life.

  Until then, arrivederci.

  Audra leafed through the journal, skimming over the dates on the pages. They were in chronological order.

  One by one, she flipped through the pages of the other five journals. The dates stretched back years.

  “What are they?” Denis asked.

  “Private journals,” she said. “Looks like he kept a log of everything he did. Hundreds and hundreds of pages’ worth.”

  48

  Oakville, November 1

  10:51 p.m.

  Allan paced the corridor outside the hotel room. His pulse pounded in his ears. His body felt amped up from the adrenaline rushing through his bloodstream.

  He couldn’t remember ever feeling such crazed fury as he had in front of Jacob Stark. He’d wanted to shoot the man. Right there. Right then. It took every ounce of willpower he possessed just to turn and walk away.

  In that moment, he knew he had to leave Major Crimes. He’d lost all control and perspective in that hotel room. He’d allowed his emotions to get the better of him, and in his job, that was a big no-no.

  The ravages of PTSD were taking their toll on him. Worst of all, he was letting it happen.

  Allan leaned against the wall and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself down.

  Beckett and Latour brought Stark out of the room. Allan watched them lead him down the corridor to the elevator. As they disappeared inside, Allan felt the tremors that had been rippling through his hands begin to subside.

  After a few minutes, Audra appeared in the corridor, walking toward him.

  “Hey,” she said. “What the hell was that in there?”

  Allan shrugged, not quite trusting his voice to speak.

  “You scared the shit out of me. I thought you were going to shoot him.”

  He cleared his throat. “I wanted to.”

  “Jesus, Al,” she said, searching his face. “What’s going on with you? And don’t tell me you’re fine. You’re not fine at all.”

  Allan saw the concern in her blue eyes. “I’m not cut out for this work anymore.”

  Audra touched his arm. “Talk to me. You know I’m worried about you.”

  He opened his mouth and just about said, “Don’t be.” Instead, he lowered his head and let out a sigh.

  “I haven’t been right for a while,” he said. “Months, actually.”

  “Ever since that shootout in the alley?”

  He shook his head. “Long before that.”

  “Tell me.”

  Allan pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut.

  “Tell me,” Audra repeated. “Please.”

  So he did. He told her everything. Only because she was one of the few people in the department he trusted. Anything he said to her would remain between them.

  He told her about how lost and alone he felt after Melissa had left with Brian. About how he began to become emotionally invested with victims’ families—even more so than he had in the past—and it bothered him because he didn’t know if he’d just used them to fill the void Melissa’s leaving had given him.

  He told her about the night he got drunk and put his Beretta to his head after he told Brian he’d have to cancel his visit because Allan was leaving Halifax to chase a lead in a case.

  He told her about the recurring nightmare after the shooting in Acresville. About how Herb Matteau’s revolver was really loaded and when he brought it up in front of him to shoot Allan, Allan couldn’t shoot back because his own gun had no trigger. The nightmare would always end with Matteau glaring down at him through ribbons of smoke curling up from the end of his revolver as Allan died at his feet.

  He told her about the problems he had after the shootout in the alley. About how any sudden bang would send him ducking for cover. Even the slightest sound in the house would send him checking every room, every door, and every window.

  He told her about how his mind would race out of control at times, filling him with overwhelming fear and anxiety. About how he kept seeing the faces of the dead. About the intrusive flashbacks that would pop up at any moment.

  “Remember when I went out for supper with Melissa and Brian to celebrate her new job?”

  Quiet, Audra nodded.

  “While I was sitting there at the table with them,” Allan said, “my attention was drawn to the parking lot across the street. I saw Brad Hawkins lying there, dead. I couldn’t get the image out of my mind. I ended up changing seats with Melissa so I wouldn’t have to face the window.”

  “Who was he again?”

  “The security guard Herb Matteau murdered.”

  Audra tipped her head back. “Right.”

  “That’s how fast the flashbacks can hit me,” Allan said. “Completely without warning.”

  “Why didn’t you tell Dr. Galloway all of this?”

  “I don’t know. Wanted to hang on to my job, I guess.”

  “This sounds like PTSD.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’m convinced it is.”

  “You can’t fool around with this any longer, Al. Remember what happened to Henderson?”

  Allan remembered him, all right. He was a twenty-one-year veteran who waited until his wife and two sons went out shopping one night, then he walked into the garage and gassed himself in his car.

  Henderson had left no note explaining why. It wasn’t until detectives interviewed Henderson’s wife that they learned of his deteriorating mental health. He’d have outbursts of anger over the least little thing. He’d become emotionally detached from his family. He’d hit the bottle the moment he came from work and was drunk more than he was sober. Before his suicide, his wife had considered leaving him. Life with him, she’d said, had become a living hell.

  Audra put a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t want to see something happen to you, Al. When we get back to Halifax, you go see Galloway. Tell her everything you just told me. Get the help you need.”

  Allan felt an ache in his heart. He looked at her and noticed Denis standing down the corridor just outside the room. He had his arms crossed and shoulder leaned against the jamb. When their eyes met, Denis lowered his gaze to the floor.

  Audra turned to him. “Detective, did you call Montoya?”

  Denis pushed off the jamb. “She’s on her way,” he said. “Heidi Stark did call her husband.”

  “How do you know that?” Allan asked.

  “Stark has personal journals in there. Six of them. That’s what he was writing in. I read the entry before his final one. In it, he admitted to his wife that he killed Kate Saint-Pierre.”

  Allan lifted his chin. “What’d he say exactly?”

  “Said he strangled her with a piece of that rope we took from the garage.”

  Audra said, “We get his DNA, and I’m confident we’ll have him for the murder of Mary Driscow as well.”

  “Not only her,” Denis said. “I skimmed over the October entries. It seems he has been a busy man. He mentioned a guy named Roger Pratt. He was a hiker from Toronto who went missing in Mount Nemo over in Burlington. When searchers found his body, Halton Police believed his death was an accident.”

  Allan felt a weird tingle in his stomach. “Only it wasn’t, I’m guessing.”

  Denis made a sad face. “Stark pushed him off a cliff. Or so he wrote.”

  Audra’s eyebrows shot up. “Whoa. He murdered someone right in his own backyard.”

  “I heard Mount Nemo has some dangerous areas,” Denis said. “There have been accidents there over the years. A few people have even died, falling off the cliffs.”

  Allan said, “So Pratt’s death wouldn’t spark any suspicions.”

  Denis shook his head.

  The elevators doors chimed open, and Detective Mo
ntoya emerged, carrying her field kit.

  “You guys have some evidence for me to collect?” she asked.

  “Six journals,” Denis said. “They’re in the room on the desk.”

  Allan asked him, “How many pages in these journals?”

  Denis frowned. “Two hundred fifty. Three hundred pages apiece.”

  “That would be my guess,” Audra said. “Writing on both sides of the page.”

  “There’s a lot of literature to go through.” Denis glanced at his watch. “How do you feel about pulling an all-nighter?”

  49

  Oakville, November 2

  6:39 a.m.

  Jacob Stark’s first victim had been Alannah Wallace, a twenty-six-year-old medical secretary from Sudbury, Ontario.

  On August 3, 2000, he’d come across her while hiking Killarney Provincial Park.

  I see her the moment I reach the top of Silver Peak, he wrote. It’s just her and me up there. We could be the only two people in the world.

  She takes a sip from her water bottle as she looks out at the lush hills and valleys. Beyond them, the water of Georgian Bay sparkles under the bright sun. It’s really a gorgeous view.

  My boot scuffs the white quartzite cliff top, and she snaps her head around at the sound. I give her a wave and smile to let her know I’m harmless. She ignores me and turns back to the scenery. Squirts some water into her mouth.

  She’s pretty—lean and fit. Her long golden hair twirls in the wind. She’s wearing one of those wicking T-shirts, khaki shorts, and low-top boots. She has a small pack on her back.

  As I stare at her, dark fantasies begin dancing in my brain. I feel a warm rush of excitement push through my body. My pulse speeds up. My senses heighten.

  Coming to the park, the thought of killing someone hadn’t even entered my mind. But this woman, alone up here, triggers a deep compulsion that has sat dormant inside me for years.

  There are a few quartzite rocks scattered around the clifftop. More mind than body, I’m drawn to one the size of a brick. Carefully picking it up, I look over at the woman. She continues to stare out at the view.