“Oh,” he said as he looked down. “That? Um, I was tying some things down with rope at work. Must have been tying too tight.”
“What kind of rope?”
“Kind? The thick stuff, triple-braid.”
He answered the question honestly. Triple-braid was likely the type of rope he used at work. It just wasn’t what he’d used last night.
“Doesn’t look like it was from triple-braid.”
“It was, I had gloves on so maybe that makes it look different.”
“Look, Morris. Time to level with me.”
She was going for the kill already. I was about to lose my bet.
“Okay,” she said. “You look like a smart guy, probably like to watch CSI?”
“Yeah, sometimes.”
“So you know what we can do, right?”
He looked away from Kara, put his hands on his knees to try to stop them from bouncing.
“I guess, yeah.”
“I bet those bruises are a perfect match to the cord found on your bed. I bet your DNA is all over that cord.”
Morris was crying hard now, fear not sorrow. His nose was starting to run and I could hear him sniffling.
“What I want to know is, how did you know how to stage the murder so perfectly?”
“What?”
He wiped at his nose then wiped the back of the hand on his jumpsuit.
“You killed your wife, Morris. It’s obvious to me, and it was obvious to my partner. Maybe she nagged you one too many times, maybe it was the hoarding, I’m guessing it was her stuff. Or maybe you just wanted to get rid of her, collect the insurance and move on.”
Silence.
Kara’s voice was rising, almost to a yell.
“Is that it? Insurance money? She worked at London Life, right, so she probably had a decent plan. Some money from work as well? You’re probably looking at a cool half a mil, maybe even more. What about the mortgage, will that be paid off too? I’m sure you thought about that. Car loans, line of credit, anything else? You kill your wife, strangle the fucking life out of her just to cash in on some coin? What did you think when the life was draining out of her, when she struggled? Did you like it? Or was it just business?”
And all he did was shake his head.
“You don’t seem like a serial killer to me, maybe the kind of guy who kills his wife, but not a serial killer. I’ve seen some serious shit in my days, a woman stabbed over thirty times, another one burned to death, one that her asshole husband threw acid on, burned away her face.”
Morris cringed.
“This is nothing like that. You’re not a bad guy, things just got a little hard, right? But right now, I look at your wife’s murder and the other four, and well, it doesn’t take a genius.”
Almost all was fair in interrogations. We could lie, we could suggest evidence but never lie about it. If we had a surveillance tape that we hadn’t watched or that the suspect wasn’t on it was against the rules to say that he was. But it was fine to say we hadn’t had a chance to watch it, would there be any reason you would be on it?
My favourite was bringing in a bankers box marked with the occurrence number and name of the deceased. Never once would I talk about it, mention it in any way or even look at it. It would just sit there like the elephant in the room, making the suspect wonder just how much dirt we had on him.
“So tell me, why did you kill the other four women too?”
“I didn’t kill them. I swear I didn’t kill those women.” He bared his teeth, breathing heavily through tightly stretched lips. “There’s no fucking way you can prove that.”
“Okay, Morris,” Kara said, calm as when she started. “I believe you. But tell me this. I’ve been yelling at you for killing your wife, accusing you of doing it just to cash in on some insurance money and you barely bat an eye, you don’t yell or anything. But when I accuse you of something you didn’t do, you freak out, start swearing at me saying you didn’t do it.”
A stutter.
“You’re looking at first degree, Morris. Twenty-five years minimum. Tell me what happened, maybe it was heat of the moment, maybe you just snapped. Second degree is a lot better.”
He took a deep breath, but didn’t speak.
“Look, Morris. I know you fucking killed her. And I’ll be able to prove it beyond a reasonable doubt. This killing, it’s nothing like the other four.”
“Fuck.”
And he was done. Fifteen minutes.
“Every morning when I got home there was more shit piled up in the house, in the fucking bedroom too. All I wanted was one goddamned room that I could actually walk in. Is that too much to ask for, for Christ’s sake? When she’d leave for work I’d take all the boxes and put them in the other rooms but there was no more space left.
“I came home early this morning, got the job done and felt like sneaking out. Left around five. When I came into the bedroom there was shit everywhere, boxes and boxes of shit. I don’t know where the fuck it came from or how it got there. I snapped. I grabbed the cord from on top of one of the boxes, came up behind her and put it around her neck. She barely put up a fight. When I was done I was scared shitless, didn’t know what to do. Then I figured I could blame it on The Strangler.”
Kara reached out and touched Morris’s leg. “I knew you weren’t a bad guy. Now, how do you feel?”
Morris paused for a moment. “Free.”
“Because you confessed?”
“Because I’m finally rid of her.”
Morris was taken back to his cell and Kara joined me in the viewing room.
“Bitch,” I said once she walked in.
“Whoa, what did I do?”
“You just cost me fifty bucks. I figured you’d take half an hour, Kristoff said no more than twenty minutes. You know you could have made him sweat longer.”
“He wasn’t worth it.”
That was a point I couldn’t argue with.
* * *
I settled into bed that night, ready to sleep the sleep of the just, when my phone rang. A private number. The glaring red numbers across the room told me it was just after midnight. I knew the phone call would be important, but it was too early for another killing.
I answered the phone, my voice still rough. “Yeah?”
“It’s Kara. I got your message.”
Message? When had I left that?
“I know you said you’d be home around nine but I was out with a couple of friends, and holy shit look at the time. Sorry, Link.”
Yet another person calling me Link today. Kat I could understand, but for Kara it was out of character.
The last message I had left for her was the day I flew back in from Algonquin.
“Have you been drinking?”
“I’ve had a couple.” She paused. “What gave it away?”
“You swore and you called me Link. I could spot it in my sleep.” And I practically had.
“Oh my God, sorry Detective.” She stammered trying to regain face only she thought she had lost.
“Kara, calm down, it’s fine. Why’d you call?”
“Um, oh yeah, I forgot to tell you today I checked up on the police college idea. Nothing yet, but we’ve got the staff there checking through the cameras to see if anyone left and came back on the nights of the killings. If they went out all four nights around the right time, it should be enough to get them in for questioning at least. Hard to believe it might be someone from OPC.”
“Well, remember, it’s just a possibility, but with how little we’ve got we need to check it out.”
“Right, would fit though. How else would they know enough to leave no evidence behind?”
My thoughts exactly.
“Look, I’m off to bed,” I said. “We’ve got an early morning ahead of us. Have a glass of water or two and some Tylenol and get some sleep. I doubt Grant will be happy with you talking to another man so late.” Grant was her boyfriend, an OPP constable working patrol.
“He’s
working night shift tonight, I’m all alone. Should sleep well without his snoring.”
I laughed and thought of how well Kat must have slept the past two nights. “See you in the morning. I’ll get you an extra-large coffee, you’ll need it.”
“Thanks, Lincoln. Good night.”
I hung up the phone and drifted back to sleep.
—16—
I walk through the forest yet again. It’s dark and there’s no moon to guide my path. A faint glow in the distance is all I have to see by, and I spend a lot of time on the ground, the roots and rocks bringing me to my knees. As I feel my way through the forest, the light grows brighter and soon it separates into four distinct glows.
It is a house deep in the middle of the woods. Light pours through its windows. The ground turns solid—level paving stones lead up to the front door. Fear grips me as I approach, unsure of what lies in wait.
A solid wood door, no windows through which I can see inside. A brass door knocker hangs on the top half just below a small peephole. My hand finds the handle, lit by the illuminated doorbell beside it. I press down on the latch, but the door is locked. I take the knocker in hand and sound three loud knocks that echo through the forest.
The door opens to a uniformed officer standing inside the sparse foyer. Two pairs of women’s shoes sit on the floor behind the door.
I never get the chance to speak.
“You’ll never make it in time,” the constable says. “She’s already dead.”
—17—
I was out of bed, dressed in whatever was lying on the floor and down the stairs before I even realized I was awake. My untied shoelaces bounced as I ran out the door, keys in hand to my waiting vehicle. At least I had remembered my phone.
I had only been to Kara’s once before—she had invited my family and I for dinner after getting posted to homicide. I hoped I’d still be able to find her house. I revved the engine and drove down empty streets toward the west edge of the city. Kara lived in Delaware, just outside of the city limits in OPP territory. Which made for a woman living in a rural area, home alone, her boyfriend working the night shift. Shit. No alarm system. “Not worth the money,” she had said. I raced out Oxford Street over the bridge that had been built only a few years ago that connected the old edge of the city with the new edge—a developing neighbourhood. I arrived at Westdel Bourne only minutes later, turned left and drove south on the dimly lit road, my brights the only lights leading the way.
It was difficult driving while I dialed Kara’s cellphone one-handed. Her voice mail picked up each time after three rings. I brought my phone up to face level and dialed dispatch. The phone rang and my eyes returned to the road just in time to see a deer standing in front of me.
I swerved hard, missed the paralyzed animal by a hair then careened toward the shoulder. My tires hit the soft gravel and the steering wheel spun beneath my hands, instinct taking over. The car fishtailed, rocks and stones flying up and bouncing off the undercarriage. I slid and spun then came to a stop in the middle of the road facing the way I had come.
“Hello? Hello?”
I had dialed the non-emergency line, a number given only to police. The voice on the other end sounded worried and its repeated greetings helped me locate my phone under the gas pedal. I must have dropped it when I went for the wheel.
“Hello?”
“It’s Munroe.”
“Hello, Detective. Everything okay?”
“Look, I’m not sure. I need Kara’s phone number at home, she’s not answering her phone. She’s on her own tonight.”
“Is she in danger?”
I turned the car around and began speeding back toward Kara’s, the engine’s whine audible to the dispatcher. “I don’t know anything right now. I’m almost at her house. She’s probably just sleeping and left her phone in her purse.”
“Okay.” Apprehension filled her voice. “Her number is five-one-nine-six-four-two-three-one-two-nine. Did you get that?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
“Lincoln, I’ve got a car nearby. I’ll send them your way, alright?”
“Sure, but no lights and sirens. I’m probably overreacting as it is.”
“Okay. They’re about ten minutes out. Maybe a little more.”
“Thanks.” I hung up the phone.
I squealed around the curve onto Longwoods Road, ignoring the stop sign and only tapping the brakes. It didn’t take long to make it into Delaware. My fingers tried to dial Kara’s number, but tremors that rocked my hands slowed me down. I turned onto Victoria Street, made a quick left on Prince of Wales Avenue then turned again onto Prince Albert Street. Kara’s house was just a short distance away.
My phone rang in my lap but I kept driving. If Kara picked up I would answer but until then getting there was my only goal.
Four rings sounded before the answering machine picked up.
I pulled into the driveway and jumped out of the car just in time to hear a loud scream coming from the upstairs bedroom.
I was unarmed.
Damn. My flight from the house had been so fast that getting my gun never even struck my mind. The door was only a short distance away and the gap closed in just a few strides. It was unlocked. The door swung open without a sound and I could hear a fight upstairs. I took the stairs in the dark three at a time and burst into Kara’s room to find her on the floor, her attacker on top of her trying to strangle her. She was kicking hard, her hands underneath the rope he had pressed against her neck, keeping it from doing its job.
The man looked back at me, giving Kara the opportunity she needed to drive her knee full force into his groin. He rolled off of her and I grabbed onto his collar then pulled him to the ground.
Kara was crying, fear gripping her and holding her immobile.
“Call nine-one-one,” I yelled.
My voice brought her back. Kara crawled to the bedside table and picked up the phone. She tucked it between her shoulder and ear and reached under the bed. Her gun. She was going for her gun.
The man flailed and fought against me. Three punches to the side of his head were not enough to slow him down, his hands still grabbed at me and at the floor. My eyes were on Kara putting the magazine into her pistol when I felt a sharp pain in my side and fell backwards.
The man got up, leapt over me and sprinted for the door. My hand shot out and grabbed his leg. It wasn’t enough to stop him but it slowed him down as I heard the familiar sound of a handgun slide racking before three gunshots rang out in the night.
He yelled out in pain but continued running, his heavy footsteps sounding down the stairs. The room was dark, only a faint glow came through the windows, and I couldn’t see as I reached to my side and felt the handle of a knife sticking out. Despite all of my training, I grabbed the handle, pulled the blade out and threw it to the floor.
“Stay on the phone,” I told Kara, “get everyone here.” I took the gun from her hand and bolted down the steps, my right hand holding her pistol and my left pressed against my side to stop the bleeding. I ran out into the night and my eyes panned back and forth, still adjusting to the darkness. I saw the outline of a man to the north as he sprinted down the street, his right arm clutching his left shoulder.
My legs became pistons, pumping in perfect time with one another as the distance between us shortened. We were within twenty metres of each other as he approached the intersection ahead. If he rounded the corner, if I lost sight of him, he could be gone forever.
I released the pressure from my wound, stopped, brought the gun to eye level in both hands. The sights lined up in the center of his back, it was a shot that couldn’t miss.
You’ll be no better than him.
I watched him round the corner before I lowered the gun and ran again.
It was too late. He was gone.
Sirens sounded in the distance informing me that the cavalry was on its way.
He couldn’t hide forever.
I turned around and sprinted back
to Kara, cursing myself for not having taken the shot. It would have been justified and not just because the man had attempted to kill Kara and stabbed me. I was authorized to use lethal force to prevent serious bodily harm or death to others, even if it meant shooting an unarmed man in the back. Honourable? No, but justified. But I had hesitated, and because of that, other women were now at risk.
I made it to Kara’s driveway as the first cruiser pulled up, lights flashing and sirens blaring. “It’s me, Munroe,” I yelled over the noise. “He went west on the next street, radio it in. Get canine and an ambulance out here and go after him.”
The car sped off as fast as it had arrived and I ran inside and up the stairs to find Kara. I turned on the lights and found her still sitting on the floor where I had left her, the phone in her hand and an empty gun case at her feet. A bloody knife sat a few feet away.
“I got him,” she said.
I turned my head and saw blood sprayed on the wall and a long hole torn in the drywall as the bullet skimmed along before burying itself deep into a wooden stud.
“Nice shot.” I took the phone from her hand and sat down beside her then wrapped my arms around her. Blood from my shirt transferred onto hers, a thin white nightshirt that accentuated her form perfectly. The shirt showed her subtle curves, her nipples visible through the semi-sheer fabric. It was horrible of me to be thinking like that, but seeing how beautiful and strong she was in light of the situation drew me to her even more. She wore a necklace now—a red ligature mark along the front of her throat, the only place the rope had made contact as she tried to hold her attacker back.
The rope. I looked around and saw it sticking out from under her bed.
We had all the evidence we needed now. The killer’s blood and the murder weapon. It would only be a matter of time until he was in custody.
“Link… I… um… you… I…,” she tried with all the strength she had left to speak but the words would not come out. I knew what she wanted to say, she wanted to thank me for saving her life, for coming to her rescue.
“Quiet,” I said as I held her tighter.
A Dream of Death Page 10