by Alex MacLean
As Allan shook his hand, he noticed the whites of Bill’s eyes had turned yellow. He’d also lost even more weight, considerably so. His gray sweatshirt hung off his shoulders.
“How’ve you been doing?” Allan asked him.
Leaning back into the cushions, Bill flicked his eyebrows. “Going downhill fast, I’m afraid.” He gestured to a chair by the fireplace. “Please, have a seat.”
Allan did.
“This is my living room and bedroom now,” Bill said. “I can’t go up and down the stairs anymore. Takes too much out of me.”
Allan felt a pang of sadness. “Sorry to hear that.”
“My brother thinks I should be in the hospital. Have you ever been to Victoria General?”
“Once or twice.”
“I don’t think they know what a broom is. Besides, I’m more comfortable here. In my own surroundings.”
“That’s understandable.”
“So what brings you here?” Bill gave him a bright-eyed, hopeful look. “Good news?”
Allan nodded. “We caught him. We caught Mary’s killer.”
Bill bit down on his lower lip, and his eyes misted.
His voice cracked as he asked, “Who was he?”
“His name is Jacob Stark. Thirty-five years old. Married, with two young daughters.”
“Did he know Mary?”
Allan shook his head. “He doesn’t even live around here. He’s from Burlington.”
Bill frowned. “What was he doing in Halifax?”
“He’s a…or was a business consultant. He was in the city to help a company streamline their operations.”
“Did he murder that other girl a few weeks ago?”
“Yes.”
Bill scratched the stubble on his jaw. “How does a man with children murder the child of someone else?”
Allan drew a breath, remembering the entries he’d read in Stark’s journals. “I can’t answer that, Mr. Driscow,” he said. “You meet people in my line of work that you never figure out. You just shake your head at their absurdity.”
“But you’re sure he’s the guy?”
Allan nodded again. “There are no doubts.”
Lifting his chin, Bill closed his eyes and took a deep sniff. “Jennie, could you come here?”
Seconds later, she appeared in the doorway, holding a dishtowel.
“You go home tonight,” he told her. “Be with your family.”
“I don’t want to leave you here alone.”
“I’ll be okay. Really, I will.”
“You sure?”
Bill nodded. “Positive. I’m just going to watch some TV tonight. Then I’ll get my blanket and go to sleep here on my comfy sofa.”
Jennie paused. “I’m going to finish up these dishes first.”
After she left the room, Bill looked at Allan. “That’s my niece. Good kid. She’s been practically staying here round the clock this past week. Her and Mary were first cousins. Best friends. People thought they were sisters.”
Allan said, “I saw the resemblance when she answered the door.”
“She has a husband and a six-year-old boy. I feel guilty that she’s been staying here. She should be with them.”
“Is it safe for you to be alone?” Allan asked.
“Oh yes. I can still get up and putter around. There’s a bathroom down the hall. I just can’t make it upstairs.”
Jennie came back, wearing a blue coat. “I’m leaving,” she said. “Sure you’ll be okay?”
Bill laughed lightly. “I’ll be fine, honey. Don’t worry.”
“I’ll be back first thing in the morning. Seven, seven thirty.”
“Okay, Jennie. See you then.”
“Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Bill watched her walk out, and his chin started quivering. Suddenly, he squeezed his eyes shut and seemed to bite back a pain in his body.
Allan got off the chair. “Hey, you okay?”
Opening his eyes, Bill mustered a half smile. “Cancer sucks, let me tell you.”
“Do you want me to get your niece back?”
“No, no. Definitely not,” he said. “A couple days ago, palliative care put a fentanyl patch on my chest to help with the pain. I think it might need to be changed tomorrow. Must be wearing off.” He gestured to the pill bottles on the coffee table. “I have some hydromorphone among my pharmacy there. But they only want me taking it if the pain gets too great. ’Fraid I might die sooner.”
Allan sat with him for a while, talking about nothing in particular—politics, the weather, the coming winter and whether or not it would be a bad one.
Bill never had another flare-up of pain, so Allan decided to go home. The time was 7:15 p.m.
“Sure you’re going to be all right here by yourself?” Allan asked him.
Bill flashed him a smile. “Don’t worry. I have Jennie on speed dial.”
Allan stuck out his hand. “You take care of yourself, Mr. Driscow.”
Tears welled in Bill’s eyes as he shook Allan’s hand. “Thank you, Detective Stanton. You brought me closure.”
“You’re welcome.”
As Allan stepped outside, he expelled a long sigh. He felt sick at heart over the tragedies that had befallen the Driscow family.
He didn’t remember the drive home. Carrying his bags into the house, he set them on the kitchen floor.
Brian came running in, all excited. “Dad.”
“Hey, little man.” He gave his son a big hug as Brian ran into his arms. “How was your day?”
“Good. Did you catch the bad guy?”
Allan gave him a fond smile. “Yes, we did.”
“Is he in jail?”
“He is in jail. Perfect place for him.”
Melissa appeared in the doorway, and her eyebrows drew together when she looked at him.
“Wow,” she said. “Do you ever look tired.”
Allan removed his coat, draped it over the back of a chair. “I’m pretty exhausted. A lot of traveling and late nights. We pulled an all-nighter on Monday, and I haven’t recovered from it.”
“Did you catch any sleep on the plane?”
He shook his head. “Audra did. She slept the entire flight. Didn’t wake up until we landed.”
“Supper’s in the oven. I thought you’d be home sooner.”
Allan watched Brian run off into the living room. “I wanted to make a stop first. Got hung up there a little longer than I wanted.”
Melissa grabbed a pair of oven mitts from a drawer. “Oh, really? Where?”
“Bill Driscow.”
“Who’s that?”
“Mary Driscow’s father.”
Melissa paused a moment before opening the oven door and bringing out a plate wrapped in tinfoil. Setting it on the table, she pulled off the foil to reveal a jacket potato stuffed with salmon, peas, and cheese.
“That looks delicious, sweetheart.”
She smiled. “It is. Thought I’d try a new recipe. Brian doesn’t like salmon, but he ate it in this. Of course, I didn’t tell him what was in it.”
Allan grabbed a fork and sat down at the table to eat. Melissa took a seat across from him.
“This is good,” he said, chewing a piece of potato.
“I know, right?”
“So how’s work going?”
“Great. I love this job, Al.”
“That’s good. I’m so happy everything’s working out for you.”
“What about you?” she asked. “I still think about that night, a few weeks ago, when you came home and looked like a castaway. You were blaming yourself for things out of your control. I noticed you’ve been bothered with stuff ever since then.”
Allan lowered his head. “It was after my visit with Bill Driscow,” he said quietly. “That’s when I learned about his wife dying. Mary Driscow’s mother.”
“The man you went to see tonight.”
“Yes.”
“You wanted to tell him you arr
ested his daughter’s killer.”
As he pictured the frail man on that sofa, Allan felt a painful tightness in his throat. He tried to blink away the sudden rise of tears, but one leaked out and rolled down his cheek.
“Oh, Al,” Melissa said, searching his face. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s my job.” He wiped his eyes with the back of a hand. “I need to talk to you about these past six months. About what’s been happening to me.”
“Tell me.”
Composing himself, Allan looked into her hazel eyes and saw the concern swimming there. He was so grateful she was back in his life.
“Tell me, Al,” she repeated.
“Tomorrow night,” he said. “There’s just so much, and I need to get some sleep right now.”
Melissa paused a moment. “Okay. Do you want to try a Unisom?”
“Sure. Why not.”
As she left the kitchen, Allan put the empty plate in the sink and ran a glass of water. Melissa came back with a pill in her hand. She gave it to him.
“You only need one,” she said.
He chased it down with a gulp of water then set the glass in the sink.
“Tomorrow night,” Melissa said. “You’re going to tell me everything.”
“I promise.” Allan gave her a hug. “You might want to pick up a bottle of wine after work.”
“For me?”
“For both of us.”
He kissed her good night and went upstairs. He found Brian in his room, building what looked to be a castle with his Lego blocks. Buddy slept at the foot of his bed.
“Hey, little man. I’m going to bed now.”
Brian looked up at him. “So early?”
Allan smiled. “Daddy’s exhausted.” He gave him a kiss on top of the head. “See you in the morning.”
“K, Dad. Good night.”
“G’night, son.”
Allan went down the hall to his bedroom. He set his pager and cell phone on the dresser. Then he changed out of his clothes and crawled into bed. Within minutes, he felt his body sinking into sleep.
He dreamed he heard Melissa’s voice calling to him.
“Al,” she said. “Al.”
“What is it?”
“Al,” she continued to say. “It’s work.”
“Work?”
In the background, he heard a high-pitched beeping.
“Wake up. Wake up, Al.”
As he swam back to consciousness, he realized someone was pushing on his shoulder. He opened his eyes to find it was morning. Melissa stood at the bedside, dressed in her pajamas.
“You slept like a log last night,” she said. “Never moved once.”
“Hey,” he muttered, still groggy. “Did I hear my pager?”
“Yes. That’s why I woke you up.” She handed it to him. “You got a call.”
He sat up in bed and wiped the crust from his eyes. The bedside clock read: 7:40. He read the code on the pager’s display. When he scrolled to the address of the call, he began shaking his head.
“No, no, no,” he said.
“What is it?” Melissa asked.
Getting out of bed, Allan snatched his cell phone off the dresser and placed a call to Dispatch.
“Yes, Detective?”
“That call you just sent me. Send it to another investigator.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
A pause. “Why?”
“Because I’m not going. Send the call to someone else. I’ll deal with the consequences later.”
Allan hung up the phone. Sitting back against the dresser, he dropped his head and stared at the floor. It felt as if a cold hand had closed around his heart and begun squeezing.
Melissa walked over to him, touching his arm. “What happened?”
Allan closed his eyes and winced.
His voice cracked around the words. “It’s Bill Driscow. He committed suicide.”
Epilogue
Halifax, November 12
2:00 P.M.
Allan flinched when Melissa laid her hand on his forearm.
“You’re doing the right thing,” she said.
He let out a weighted sigh. “I know. It’s best for me. It’s best for us.”
“I keep thinking about what you told me last week. How that gang almost killed you. Imagine what that would’ve done to Brian. To me.”
Allan took her hand and gently squeezed it. “But I’m here, sweetheart. I survived. That’s the main thing.”
They sat in Dr. Galloway’s waiting room. Melissa had taken a couple of hours off work to go with him and lend her moral support. Allan had told her she didn’t have to, but she’d insisted on going. Now that she was there, he found her presence comforting, helpful even.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “Christmas is next month. Why don’t we do something different this year?”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Disney World.”
Melissa’s eyes brightened. “Wow. Really?”
“Whaddya say? We spend Christmas Day at home. Fly out Boxing Day. Spend a week down there. Just the three of us.”
“Brian would love that.”
Allan nodded. “I know. But we won’t tell him until after he opens his presents on Christmas Day.”
Melissa smiled. “You have all this planned out in your head, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Audra and her husband took their daughter down a few years ago. They had a great time. I think she said they stayed at the Grand Floridian.”
“Let’s do it.”
“Yeah?”
Melissa’s face beamed. “Yes. I can’t wait to see Brian’s reaction when we tell him.”
“Me too,” Allan said, smiling. “Great. I’ll get everything booked this week.”
Dr. Judy Galloway opened her office door and stepped into the waiting room.
“Detective Stanton,” she said. “C’mon in.”
“Good luck,” Melissa said.
“Thank you.”
As Allan went into Galloway’s office, she closed the door behind him.
“Is that your wife?” she asked.
“Yes. Sorry, I should’ve introduced you.”
“That’s okay. How’s the reconciliation going?”
“Great.”
“That’s good.” Galloway walked over to her desk and sat. “I must say I was a little surprised when you called for an appointment. We weren’t scheduled to talk until next month.”
Allan took a seat by the desk. “This couldn’t wait.”
Galloway tented her fingers in front of her. “I’m sensing something is bothering you.”
“It is,” he said. “I lied to you when we first met. I’ve been lying to you ever since.”
Galloway tilted her head to the side. “What about, exactly?”
“Everything.”
Her mouth formed a small o. “Well now.” She smacked her lips. “So you were having problems when we first talked?”
“Yes.”
Galloway referred to a folder on her desk. “That was after the shooting you were involved in in Acresville.”
“Yes.”
“You claimed you were experiencing no trouble sleeping. No problems concentrating. No exaggerated startle response. No feelings of being on guard. No flashbacks or sense of reliving the shooting.”
“That’s right.”
“Which of these problems were you having?”
Allan began to feel warm. “All of them.”
Raising her eyebrows, Galloway paused a moment. “A month later, you were involved in another shooting right here in Halifax. Four people were killed. You were the only survivor.
“During our critical-incident interview, you told me everything was fine. You still weren’t experiencing any problems.”
Allan shifted in his chair. “I lied about that too. Things got much worse since that incident.”
Galloway leaned back from her desk. “I’m guessing
these problems have morphed into some ugly monster that’s been affecting you quite seriously?”
“Yes.”
“Interfering with your personal life?”
“Yes.”
“Your job performance?”
Allan cleared his throat. “That too.”
“It’s hard for men to admit they’re having problems,” Galloway said. “It’s all about pride and feeling weak. I’ve talked to a lot of soldiers, veterans, and police officers over the years. Some were just like you. They denied having any problems. A few of them ended up committing suicide.”
“I know,” Allan said softly. “I knew some of them. I went to their funerals.”
Finger to her lips, Galloway seemed to be appraising him. Allan knew she could easily refuse to help him. It was her right to do that.
“The floor is yours, Detective,” she said at last. “Let’s go back to the very beginning. I want you to tell me everything. Be honest this time.”
And he was. He told her everything he’d told Audra in that hotel in Oakville. He even told her about placing his Beretta to Jacob Stark’s head and how it had taken every ounce of willpower not to pull the trigger.
When he finished, it felt as if a load had been lifted off his shoulders. Galloway stared at him for a time, quiet.
“I’m glad you came to me with this,” she said. “When you described your mind racing out of control, that’s an anxiety attack. I’ll prescribe some medication to help you. I’m also going to refer you to Dr. Steinberg. He’s an excellent therapist for treating PTSD. I’ll ask him to see you as soon as possible.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
“I hope you understand, Detective, it’s going to be harder for you to go back to your job after this. The testing is going to be very stringent for you.”
Allan turned his palms up. “I knew that coming here. And I’m completely fine with it. Truth is, I don’t care if I ever go back there.”
Table of Contents
Epilogue
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