Dead of Knight

by William R. Potter

“Did we get anyone to toss the dumpsters from last night, Max?” Gooch asked.

  “Yeah, Murdocco and the Mounties went all night and came up with dick.”

  Staal lifted his desk phone and dialed Wilson Drummond’s cell. “Will. It’s Jack. Got anything for me?”

  “Come on, Jack. You know I’ll call as soon as something comes up. So far, none of the trace evidence is a match. Jaz Gill will work into the night on the hammers and belts you found. We’ll know by morning. I can get him to page you if he finds anything.”

  “Thanks, man. Have fun.”

  “You working around the team again?” Drummond emphasized around.

  “No, just working a possible connection to an auto-theft ring.”

  “Sure, Jack. We’ll keep you posted.”

  “Douglas lawyered up. So much for going at him again. I’m going to hand him over to Bruce Stenwick in Auto-Theft, Jack. Why don’t you go home and get some sleep,” Gooch said. It sounded to Staal like an order.

  “Yeah, we kinda hit a wall.”

  Staal ran the day’s events through his mind, hoping to jog loose an answer. He felt as though he had missed something—he shook his head. He hated to leave things in other people’s hands, no matter how capable they were.

  He made his way to where Fraser and Hayes were finishing their own reports. “You guys up for a cold one?”

  “Yeah, sounds great,” Fraser said.

  Gina smiled and nodded to Staal.

  “Instead of Stamps, how about the Thirsty Gull? I know the owner.”

  “The press has Barnes, Ross and McEwen trapped out front, so I think we should all slip out the back,” Gina said.

  “Barnes will take one for the team. I’ll see you guys at the Gull in thirty. I’ve got a stop to make,” Staal said.

  Chapter 9

  A drink or three was just what Staal needed and he looked forward to meeting with Kenny and Gina. But first, he would take care of a domestic problem; he was out of cat food. On the corner of Marine and Front Streets was a 24-Seven convenience store. He parked the Impala, and made his way through the maze of teens hanging out in front of the store.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket. He recognized the number.

  “Wendy, how are you?” He put several cans of cat food in a shopping basket.

  “Jack, I talked to Constable Wallace like you said, and still nothing. I can’t find any trace of Becky.”

  Phil Wallace worked in missing persons at Vancouver PD.

  “Okay.”

  “Get off the phone, man.” One of the teenagers pushed past him.

  Staal wandered the isles of the store, not sure what he was looking for. “Is Becky still hanging with Jonathan Vaughn?”

  “No, not since you helped her in ’06,” Wendy said.

  “You sure?” Staal noticed that he had a liter of milk and a block of cheese in his basket.

  “I guess it—it is possible.”

  Staal heard a slight sob in Wendy’s voice.

  “I’ll look for Johnny. If Becky isn’t with him—he might still know where she is.”

  “Okay, Jack, thank you. I’m sure that if I can just get her to come home...”

  Staal had long lost count of how many times he had rescued Rebecca Reynolds from drugs, prostitution, and Vaughn. The difference now was she was no longer a troubled teen; she was twenty-six. He maintained a soft spot for Peter Reynolds’ family, always had.

  Staal was late for the Gull. He parked his car next to Ken Fraser’s Impala clone. He could hear boisterous laughter from the front steps before he entered the pub and felt irritated that Murdocco had somehow included himself in the group. Staal stepped inside the doorway and saw that Wakamatsu was also present. Gina Hayes noticed him first, raised her hand slightly, and waved. Staal nodded to Gina and walked over to the bar to where Jed Wilkinson talked with his regulars.

  Wilkinson’s face lit up, he came around the bar and reached out his oversized right hand to shake Staal’s. “How goes the battle, Constable?”

  “Not bad, big guy. How ‘bout you?” Staal could tell by the worry in the barkeep’s face that something was wrong.

  “I’m good—I guess. I’m glad you dropped by.” Wilkinson hesitated. “Had some excitement last night. But first let me get you a beer.” He returned behind the bar and poured two glassfuls, and gestured to Staal to take a seat at a nearby booth.

  Staal took a pull on his beer and glanced over at his friends. “So, what’s up Jed?”

  “So, there’s this guy, about thirty I’d guess. Shit, I don’t even know his name. We just call him Retro.”

  “Retro?” Staal took a long drink and smiled at Gina.

  “Yeah, my girls call him that. He doesn’t drink or nothing, he just throws quarters into those old video games in the back. So, last night these three guys were hassling him. He left, but I guess they met Ret in the parking lot. He got the best of one of them, but then his buddies jumped in.”

  “Three on one. Real tough guys, eh?”

  “Yeah, so I got involved, you see? I never hit ‘em or nothing; I only pulled them off of him and told them to get lost.” Jed paused to swallow half of his drink. “What I’m wondering is—did they file a report against me or anything like that?”

  “Haven’t heard anything. If there was a report, uniform cops would have visited you, Jed.” Staal smiled. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Right, right. No visit, no problem. But if somethin’ came up, you’d let me know, right Jack?”

  “Course. Hey, how about sending another round to my friends.” Staal nodded toward Gina and the others. “My tab.” They shook hands once more and Staal got up to join the other detectives.

  “Hey, Staal, what’s this I hear about you searching some guy’s place?” Murdocco said with a hint of impatience in his voice.

  “He’s an auto thief, Nicky.” Staal lit a cigarette.

  “That’s not what I hear.” Murdocco set down his mug.

  Here we go, Staal thought.

  “Drummond’s people are looking at shit from a Birthday Boy suspect. Belts and shoes…”

  “We were looking at Mathew Douglas as a possible connection to an auto-theft ring...coincidently he looks a lot like Jim Dell’s version of Birthday Boy.”

  “So we had Drummond’s people work it from that angle as well,” Fraser added.

  “It was a long shot—and we came up with nothing to link Douglas with Kim Walker or the others.” Staal jabbed out his cigarette.

  He reached for another beer when the waitress came with a tray of glasses. The detectives clinked their mugs. Gina smiled at Staal and started to speak when Murdocco interrupted.

  “I smell bullshit, Staal!”

  “Huh?”

  “This is more of that cowboy shit like the Burke case. Fuckin’ Gooch is gonna shit when she hears this!” Murdocco reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell.

  “She was there, Nick,” Gina said.

  “Well, Pitman is going to love this.”

  Staal stiffened in his seat, cleared his throat and was about to tell Murdocco where he could shove his threats When Lesley Degarmo approached the booth.

  “Staff-Sergeant Pitman and Corporal Chin are already briefed on the HPS involvement, Nick,” she said.

  “What’s going on, Les?” Murdocco’s posture loosened and his accusing glare dimmed.

  “Staal called me when he noticed Douglas’s resemblance to the composites. Jack and Fraser went to see Douglas at work, at a Richardsons Books.”

  “Lesley put together the book club connection and then...”

  “I asked him to look for anything that might make Douglas for our guy, Nick.”

  “You shoulda told Pitman, or at least me.”

  “The team was still assembling and Jack wasn’t certain he had anything.”

  Staal moved out of his seat, no longer listening to Murdocco. Gina met him at the dartboard. He picked up the darts, handed four to Gina, and said, “You believe th
at guy? Jesus Christ.”

  “You can see it from his side, can’t you?” She set down the darts and moved toward the pool tables and arcade games.

  “Sure. I guess.” Staal followed her automatically. “You and Rachel get anything from the sex angle? Any theories come up?”

  “No, those shelters really stick to their privacy guarantees. It’s what gets the victims to trust them.”

  He nodded. Gina took his glass from him and set it on a table. “Rachael has a friend in a Surrey shelter. He might be able to persuade the ones here in Hanson to help us.”

  “Good. Not sure what the next move is. IHIT will work over Douglas and then...”

  “I have an idea.” She put her arms around him.

  “What?”

  “This.” She reached up to kiss him on the lips, gently at first, then more passionately. “Let’s have a drink and leave the case to the Team for now. In the morning we’ll have some lab results and we can go from there.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. I want to have an early night, so let’s finish up and head home.” The jukebox in the corner played Sympathy for the Devil. Staal immediately thought of Mathew Douglas. Was Douglas his demon or just a car thief?

  “Pleased to meet you,” he whispered.

  Hayes and Staal left the Gull, crossed the parking lot and got into Staal’s Impala after saying good night to the other detectives. “I thought that maybe the three of us might come up with something we hadn’t before. I wasn’t expecting the Doc to show up,” Staal said.

  “Maybe the diversion was good for us, Jack. I still believe that Drummond and his people will dig up something.”

  “Yeah, maybe. Let’s get out of here, babe.”

  Gina said she would take a quick shower before bed and Staal mentioned he wanted to look something up online. He flicked on his P.C. and opened up a Corona.

  He typed Jonathan Riley Vaughn into Google and waited for the search results.

  The connection was slower than usual when Staal signed on and finally a dialog box appeared and said, NETWORK PROBLEMS EXIST. PLEASE TRY BACK LATER.

  Staal sighed.

  “Jack.” Gina walked into the room. “I’m going to bed.” She took his hand and led him to the bedroom.

  He let his clothes fall to the ground and rolled under the covers, lying on his back while Gina ran her fingers through his chest hair. She traced a scar on his chin and then kissed his neck cheek and lips. Normally it excited him when Gina initiated their lovemaking, but tonight he was distracted

  He was thinking his daughter Brenda. He didn’t see her nearly as much as he would like. Eleven years ago when he found out that her mother was expecting, he had quickly proposed marriage. Michelle turned him down and a few months later, she married her boss.

  Staal could sense Gina’s growing frustration as he ignored her advances. Lately, the Birthday Boy case and the ugly dreams had messed up his sleep patterns, leaving him uninterested in intimacy. His guilt about not seeing his daughter enough was just another sign that stress was winning the day. He knew he should talk to Gina about it so she wouldn’t blame herself.

  Gina straddled Staal, gently stroking his erection, trying again to get him in the mood. This time her diligence paid off. He caressed her breasts, kissed her lips deeply, and slowly turned her over.

  Chapter 10

  Staal made himself a bagel with peanut butter and shuffled into his office. He slumped in his chair, stuffed a large chunk of bagel into his mouth, and signed onto the Internet. As the modem connected he noticed the first rays of the sunrise. He began a search and whispered, “Okay, Johnny—where are you?”

  He used his password to access a cross-country database, and then an international link to find any sign that Jonathan Vaughn might have returned to his old tricks of pulling Break and Enters to finance his drug problem. He found nothing current and then, reluctantly, did the same search for Rebecca Anne Reynolds.

  Dated two weeks earlier a raid and warrant had been executed on a massage parlor in Toronto Ontario. Toronto Vice cops listed an Anne Reynolds arrested for prostitution and drug possession.

  In 1999, a retired FBI specialist had created a website accessible only by law enforcement officers. The site allowed former cops to keep a foot in cold cases. Cops, who had retired, quit or could no longer continue on the job due to injuries or stress voluntarily posted a case file and updated their contact information on the site. Other law agencies working cold cases could locate the original investigating officers, even if they had long ago moved away from the job. The site played on the theory that every cop had a case or cases that continued to haunt them years later.

  From his search Staal quickly found the page for Staff Sergeant Rudy Marcellus Vaughn. Staal could remember without difficulty the numerous stories his father had often told of himself and Peter Reynolds and Rudy Vaughn. The three cops came up together and were integral parts of the Vancouver PD in the 60s and 70s. Soon after Reynolds’s death, Travis Staal’s marriage ended and Vaughn found refuge in the bottle.

  Staal quickly dialed the phone number listed for Vaughn and spoke with an older woman who had never heard of him. Going back to the website, he wrote down Vaughn’s e-mail address: 1Rudedude@ Firebird.com.

  After finishing his morning jolt and shutting down his PC, Staal climbed into the shower. Facts from the case and details about Vaughn dueled with fragments of the park shooting dream for priority in Staal’s mind. He couldn’t remember having the nightmare last night, but images of dying children lingered, and he knew it had invaded his sleep again. He pushed the dream from his thoughts and concentrated on the Douglas home search. He wished the hot spray could wash the dying mother’s eyes from his brain for good.

  Staal pulled on a clean shirt, pants, and his pistol and holster. He trotted down the stairs to the kitchen where he filled a travel mug with coffee. Gina moved behind him while Staal stroked Gilbert’s coat as the cat strolled back and forth on the counter.

  “I’m heading in. I’ll see you there, Jack.” She smiled and kissed him. “I had fun last night.”

  “Yeah, me too. I’ll lock up and see you in twenty.”

  Neither Staal nor Hayes was ready to let the job officially know they were a couple, so they drove to work in separate vehicles.

  The detective squad room was quiet at 6:30 AM when Staal removed his up-side-down chair from where the night custodians left it on his desk. Two post-it notes on his blotter said to call Wilson Drummond and Inspector Ben Ross.

  Gooch stepped up to her opposing desk, handed Staal a mug of coffee, and said, “I called Wong.” She read from her notes. “No surprises on cause of death. No semen. Small skin sample under right index finger. One hair recovered, doesn’t appear to match one found on Haywood.”

  “I hope Drummond started the DNA work up on those samples,” Staal said. “Comparing it against Douglas and the hair from Haywood might get us somewhere.

  “The wood fiber will be compared to the ones from the McKay murder.” Gooch put the notebook down. “But, basically we have nothing from the body to connect the murder to Douglas.” She sat down at her desk. “I called Drummond but I keep getting voicemail. Maybe when the DNA profile comes in we’ll have something.”

  Staal wished that DNA profiles came together in minutes like on television cop shows instead of the six to ten weeks it actually took. “Did anyone talk to Ronny Matheson?”

  “Yes. Degarmo took his statement. The jerk has a good alibi for that night. He was in lockup on a DUI.”

  Staal picked up his phone and dialed Drummond. Kevin Ward, an assistant, picked up on the eighth ring.

  “Ward? Where is Will?”

  “I dunno.”

  The dismissive tone of Ward’s voice enraged Staal.

  “Don’t give me that don’t know shit! What the fuck, Ward?”

  “Jesus Christ, Staal. He’s in the lab. We’re up to our asses in work for IHIT,” Ward said.

  Staal hung up.

  �
�I’m going down there,” Staal said to his partner. He grabbed his notebook, picked up a doughnut at the coffee table, and headed for the elevator.

  Gina was exiting the lift as Staal moved to board the car. He told her where he was going and asked her to talk to Gooch about the report from Wong. On the third floor, Staal poked his head into each lab room until he found Drummond working the evidence from the Douglas search.

  “Staal, don’t abuse my people,” Drummond said while he shaved chips off a hammer handle.

  “Abuse? You gotta be kidding me. If you’d answer your damn pager, or let your people know where you’re at—nobody knew where the fuck you were.”

  Drummond placed the woodchips in a test tube and added a light green liquid. “That’s no reason to get nasty with Ward. He was quite upset.”

  “Upset? That creepy little shit. I’ll tell you about upset. Walker’s kids and sister are upset.”

  Drummond continued to work on the wood fibers, ignoring him.

  “Do you have anything for me, Will?” Stall asked finally.

  “I’ve got nothing substantial to connect Mathew Douglas or anyone else to the murder of Kimberly Walker. I’ll have a preliminary summary of my findings shortly and a comprehensive report finished by the end of the day.”

  Staal moved to leave then turned back to Drummond. “Ward is a good technician. I’ll talk to him on the way upstairs.”

  Drummond glanced at Staal. “There was a matchbook—I should be giving this to Chin or Pitman—in Walker’s purse. A print came back to a Ronald Matheson. Another print on the watch crystal, Samuel Scott?”

  “Yeah, Matheson is the common law husband. The piece of shit was in our drunk tank. Someone needs to follow up on Scott—boyfriend I think.”

  “The belts you found. They were all too wide to be from the murders. The cotton fibers from Walker and McKay are denim, and came from the same subject; however they don’t match anything you brought me from Douglas.” He held up the hammer he had worked on earlier. “This one is alder, the other two are oak. As you know we’re looking for hickory.”