Murder on the Docks

by H. Paul Doucette

  “Countin’ you...three.” I smiled, thinking how Pete would react when he met this mountain of a man.

  “More than enough,” he said with a smile. “They haven’t got a chance. I’ll put something together for you. I’ll come to the station tomorrow morning if that’s okay,” he said.

  “That’ll be fine. I’m usually in by seven. My partner is in a bit earlier. His name is Pete Duncan, by the way. You two should get on jus’ fine.”

  “By the way, how’re you making out with that body you found in the Basin?”

  I wasn’t surprised he knew about it.

  “Still waitin’ on the medical examiner’s report. We’re talkin’ to people in the area but I’m not holdin’ my breath there. It was an isolated area with no lights or regular patrols except for the odd time one of the railroad’s people decide to check.”

  “Mmm. Good points,” Mulroney said, then turning to Parks said, “Maybe this is something we should be addressing. Robie’s right, anyone could walk through that area unnoticed and unchallenged. That’s a damn good spot to see the ships.”

  “I’ll get on that straight away,” Parks said, jotting a note on the pad in front of him. “This is a job for the army, I think. I’ll start proceedings to have them install two permanent armed four-man patrols.”

  “Right then. I’ll see you in the morning.” Mulroney stood up, looking at me. He shook my hand and left the office.

  “Seems a nice enough fella,” I said, turning back to Parks.

  “Oh, he is. Been on the force since his late teens. Enlisted right out of high school. Seen several postings from the high north to Montreal where he worked on the organized crime problem there.”

  “How’d he end up here?”

  “He volunteered for attached duty with Naval Intelligence early last year. Seems to have a natural instinct for the work. We’re lucky to have him. Speaking of which, do you have any idea how long this investigation will take?”

  I shook my head. “Not really. These things tend to run their own course and it usually depends on what we can dig up and how much interference we run into. But if you want, he can work with us from here. I wouldn’t need him on the street. Pete and I can handle that end. It’ll be enough knowin’ he’s available if we need him.”

  “Excellent. So, he can stay here and continue on with his operations.”

  “That’s right,” I said, standing up, offering Parks my hand. “Good workin’ with you again.”

  “You too,” he said as we parted, and I headed for the door.

  Back at the station, I found Pete sitting at his desk still wearing his jacket. The squad room in the old building was always drafty especially when the wind blew down off the Basin. It used to be the original location of Dalhousie University in the 1800s. At the moment, Pete was reading the local paper, the Chronicle.

  I removed my overcoat and hung it on a hook along with my hat then poured a mug of coffee from the metal urn on a side table and went to Pete’s desk and sat down on the wooden chair beside it.

  “See this?” he said, turning the paper towards me. He had it folded to an article on the bodies. Same old crap about the police not having anything to report. I read it on the tram ride in earlier in the morning.

  “Those the crime photos?” I asked, taking a sip from the mug.

  “Uh-huh. Jus’ came in ‘bout ten minutes ago,” he said, passing some of them to me.

  I put the mug down and started to flip through the glossy black and white prints. The first three were of the body and the area around it. The next four were a mix of shots taken at the scene and the dock area showing tire tracks. I reached for the magnifying glass on the desk and looked more closely at the tread marks.

  “I spotted that too,” Pete said. “Looks like they’re the same. Supports our idea that the body was taken from the dock and dumped.”

  “Uh-huh. Any idea on the tire size? Maybe give us an idea of the type of truck?” I asked.

  “My guess...a one and a half or two ton.”

  “Hmm, yeah, maybe.”

  “The VG sent down a preliminary report on the victim.” Pete picked up a sheet of paper and passed it to me.

  “And...?”

  “Nothing conclusive. Medical Examiner is sure the weapon was some sort a steel spike, you know, like those cargo hooks the dockworkers use. The puncture went right through the carotid artery. Poor bastard bled to death in minutes. Might explain the large stain we saw in the shed. They’re still runnin’ a comparison of that an’ his blood.”

  “Okay,” I said, dropping the sheet of paper on the desk. “Time to check out that list of names we got from Cameron at the dock office. We got any idea on what was taken?”

  “Accordin’ to the manifests, looks like dry goods and canned foods.”

  “Looks like they knew exactly what they’re takin’.”

  “Think someone inside is passin’ information on?”

  “Yeah, looks that way. More likely, whoever it is, is sellin’ the information. We better run another check on them. By the way, how many names are on that list?”

  “If you count all the dockers, thirty-four, includin’ the gang bosses,” Pete said.

  “Anyone jump out?”

  “One or two.”

  I took the list and ran my eyes down the page. I spotted at least three names I recognized.

  “Right. I’m goin’ upstairs an’ see Morrison. Let him know where we are and see if I can get a couple of uniforms to help with cross checking these names.”

  “Okay. That’d help speed things up,” Pete said. “By the way, how’d it go with Parks?”

  “Pretty good. There’s a Royal Canadian Mounted Police officer on detached service to his section. He’s been investigatin’ the theft problem in the port for the last few months. He’s agreed to help us out.”

  “A Mountie? Didn’t know they were workin’ with intelligence.”

  “Makes sense. They’re the national police force an’ with the war, any thefts of materials an’ such, would come under federal jurisdiction. Pull the files on Wilson, Laurier and Purcell will ya? I think it’s time to give them another look see.”

  “Okay. You thinkin’ it was one of them that’s behind this?”

  “I think these thefts are organized, planned; maybe even with someone on the inside on the docks. If I’m right, I’d bet my pension one of them gotta be behind it.”

  “S’pose you’re right,” Pete said. “They’ve got their greasy fingers into everythin’ in this city.”

  I stood up and headed for the exit and stairs.

  Chapter Four

  Ed Kline made his way off the crowded ferry and walked up Portland Street, pulling the collar of his heavy overcoat up over his neck and his hat down. All the seats inside the ferry were taken so he’d made the fifteen-minute crossing on the open deck. He was chilled and wet to the bone and not looking forward to meeting his boss, Maurice Laurier. It had to be about killing Slaunwhite.

  Laurier hated drawing any attention to himself or his businesses. Ed went over what he planned to say when he got there. The boss would understand why he had to do what he did, he thought. Slaunwhite would have blown everything, so Ed really had no choice except to do what he’d done.

  He stood at the bottom of the steps leading to the entrance of the house on King Street, and took a long, deep drag on the cigarette he was smoking before flipping it into the street. He climbed the steps, opened the door, and went inside.

  “Put yer coat over there,” the man inside said. “Hey, Ken, go tell da boss Kline’s here. Take a pew in there an’ wait.” He pointed to a chair in the parlor.

  “So, what’re you, the doorman now?” Kline asked as he eased past the man.

  “Watch yer mouth,” the man snarled, following him into the room.

  “Take it easy, Frankie,” Kline said, sitting down. “Jus messin’ wit ya.”

  He looked around the room. There were two other men sitting in soft stuffed chair
s; one was reading the paper and hadn’t even bothered to look up.

  Ken returned a few minutes later.

  “He’s in the kitchen, where else,” he said, looking at Kline.

  When Kline entered the kitchen where Laurier was standing at a counter with a large cleaver in his hand hacking a turkey apart.

  “Ya wanted to see me?” Kline asked, a hint of nervousness in his voice.

  “Tell me what happened.” Laurier brought the cleaver down hard on the cutting board.

  “Everythin’ was goin’ smooth like always. We had the goods ready and was waitin’ on da truck. Anyway, we was in the middle of loadin’ once it got there when the dock foreman stuck his nose in. He had us bang ta rights an’ threatened to call the cops,” Kline said quickly.

  “So, then what?”

  “I hit him with my hook.”

  “Who was he?” Laurier asked, arranging the bird for another whack with the cleaver.

  “Louis Slaunwhite. A real hardass.”

  “Why wasn’t he put on the payroll?”

  Kline could only shrug. “Don’t know. Word ‘round the docks was he’s straight arrow. Can’t be bought, I s’pose.”

  WHACK! The cleaver came down hard on the joint where the bird’s thigh met the body cleanly separating it.

  “Okay, I get it. I don’t like it, but I get it,” Laurier said, laying the cleaver on the cutting board and wiping his hands on the towel tucked into his pants. “First thing is to get you outta sight. Where are you staying now?”

  “Got a room down in the south end.”

  “Okay. Get your stuff an’ go to the place on Leeds Street. You’ll be okay there for a while. Nobody knows about the place. I’ll call an’ let the woman livin’ there know you’re comin’. When you get there stay put, understand? No trips to any of your waterin’ holes. It won’t take the police long to figure out where this Slaunwhite was killed an’ who was workin’ at the time. An’ I’m guessin’ they’d recognize your name if it came up.”

  Kline had a history with the Halifax Police, especially Detective John Robichaud.

  “Okay. How long ya figure I gotta stay there?”

  “How the fuck do I know? As long as it takes. Jus’ get yourself up there as soon as you can. Tonight, at the latest, got it? An’ don’t tell anyone you’re there, an’ I mean anyone, understand?”

  “Yeah,” Kline said, sounding miffed.

  “You gotta a beef with this?”

  “No...no, its jus’ that...,” Kline stammered.

  “What?”

  “I got dis honey an’...”

  “Tough shit, bucko. You’re the one killed the sonofabitch. Now get outta here. I got to make the arrangements.”

  Laurier sat alone at the wooden table to the right of the wood burning stove; a large mug of hot tea in front of him next to a thick black hard covered ledger open on the table. He looked down at the entries, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

  This killing could put his entire operation at risk; worse, it could put him at risk of exposure. He’d worked hard putting his businesses together. Getting the right men on the inside of the hiring hall and the dock office; working out the pick ups; making sure his men were on the right shifts at the right times. He even managed to keep the authorities from getting too close through his man inside the headquarters building, all while remaining mostly unknown by the authorities. Now it was all about to fall apart because this guy, Slaunwhite, showed up and caught his men. That meant Detective John Robichaud would be on the job.

  Robichaud had been nosing around Laurier’s operations for a while and he had somehow stumbled onto his name. Several of his sources had alerted him to Robichaud and his poking around. He’d managed to keep a low profile and made sure there was no clear trail back to him...until now.

  There were two major problems to deal with. His main problem right now was Kline. What to do about him? He could get him out of the city, but that wouldn’t solve the problem. There were too many witnesses to the killing. He was pretty sure there wasn’t a problem with the men on the truck, only the men who worked inside, since their names would be listed somewhere.

  “Shit,” Laurier muttered, remembering that at least two of the three men working that shift had records, and one was Kline.

  His next problem was the cops, and John Robichaud. The detective’s name had come up a few times in the last year from some of his people. Apparently, this Robichaud had been nosing around a few of his enterprises and he was instrumental in shutting down Kelly’s operation last year. One of Laurier’s best customers for illegal liquor and women.

  It wouldn’t take the detective long to work his way back to the docks because of the connection to Slaunwhite. Then what would he do? There wasn’t anything there that would lead Robichaud back to here, Laurier reasoned. The only weakness at the dock was the crew working that night. The detective could get the names of the men on that shift from the dock manager or the hiring hall. Then what? Cross check the names against their police records?

  The big man sat a moment thinking, then he closed the ledger and picked it up. He stood and left the kitchen for a small back room that served as his office. There was only one option open to him – Kline and the others had to go. But it would have to be done with no possible connection to himself. He couldn’t use anyone local, too much of a chance to screw up. Fortunately, he had other resources.

  Putting the book back into the safe he had installed under a section of the floor he then went to the desk and reached for the phone.

  After several rings, a woman’s voice answered. “Operator.”

  “Long distance.”

  “What city, please?”

  “Montreal,” he said, reciting the number he wanted.

  “One moment.”

  A few moments passed while she made the connection. “Go ahead, your party is on the line.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Maurice?” the man said with a thick French accent.

  “Yeah,” Laurier said.

  “What’s up?”

  “Jus’ callin’ to let you know that job we talked about has opened up for Jules if he still wants to come down here.”

  Laurier was aware all long-distance calls were monitored by the security service, so he used a code when taking to his ‘associates’ in Montreal. In this case he wanted to have them send down a special man.

  “That’s good news, mon ami. He’ll be happy to hear it. How soon does he have to be there?’

  “The next coupla days’ll be okay.”

  “Bon. He’ll leave on the train tonight. And thanks again.”

  “No problem,” Laurier said. “What’re friends for, eh?”

  “True. Au revoir.” The connection went dead.

  He dialled a new number. A woman answered after three rings.

  “Hello?”

  “Shirley, it’s me.”

  “Hi baby,” she said in her soft voice which she used with him. “What’s up?”

  “A coupla things. I’m sendin’ someone up to the house to lay low for a few days. Name’s Ed Kline. Keep him entertained for a day or two,” Laurier said.

  “Okay. You said a couple of things, what else?”

  “Someone will be here in a day or two.”

  “Got it,” she said. They were never certain their phones weren’t tapped so they were mindful of what they said.

  “Okay. That it?”

  “Yeah. I’ll call when he gets in.”

  “Alright. You coming over tonight?” she asked. He usually spent at least three nights a week with her if he could.

  “Not tonight. I don’t wanna be there as long as he’s there.”

  “I can come over if you want?” There was a familiar tone in her voice, hinting she wanted sex.

  “Yeah. That’d be fine.”

  “See you later then, say around eight?”

  “Make it seven. I’m cooking a turkey.”

  “Yummy,” she said then hung up.

/>   After hanging up the phone, he sat back remembering when they went into business together.

  He approached her and paid for a night alone. It was after several contacts that they became lovers. He quickly learned she had a head for business and a shrewd mind. One night in bed after a vigorous session, he laid out his idea of opening a house with several girls that would offer sex for money, but only to an exclusive clientele, and asked if she was interested in running it. Shirley accepted the offer but only as a partner. He agreed and they went into business on a sixty-forty basis. She also agreed not to pull any tricks herself, saving that for him alone.

  Laurier sat back thinking about the night ahead. Shirley had one hell of a sex drive and she had no inhibitions about how she satisfied them.

  * * *

  It was nearing three o’clock. The station was busy, as usual with local merchants and citizens crowding the limited area. The place echoed with the daily barrage of complaints of sailors and merchantmen roaming the streets harassing people or disrupting their businesses by loitering in doorways, among other things. It was a problem made worse whenever a new convoy was being assembled. There simply were not enough places for the men to go once they came ashore to relieve the tensions of hazardous sea duty.

  Halifax patrolmen had their hands full keeping order, breaking up fights and trying to control the open drinking. The cells were always full, even Rockhead Prison in the north end was feeling the strain. Unfortunately for some, these were the only places they could find for shelter.

  Pete and I were sitting in the squad room poring through our files on the known criminal activities in the city. Due to the manpower shortages we were almost the whole detective squad. There were two older beat cops with enough experience I could pressgang to help out if necessary. Halifax had more than its fair share of crime nowadays, but serious crime wasn’t that common and, if we needed that kind of help, there was always the RCMP.

  I decided we should skip over the bulk of the reports dealing with petty crimes and concentrate on the ones that appeared to have some sort of organization behind them. These included bootlegging, illegal moonshining, prostitution and large-scale thefts. Fortunately, Halifax wasn’t that big a city like Montreal or Toronto, so it was simple enough to narrow everything down to several ‘families’.