Murder on the Docks

by H. Paul Doucette

  Just at that moment I heard Pete come in.

  “Somethin’ come in?” Pete asked, looking back over his shoulder at me, nodding at the papers as he hung up his overcoat and hat.

  I looked up. “Nothin’ important. Jus’ more information on the missing items from the docks. A present from Mulroney. You catch anythin’ while you were out?”

  “Not a lot.” Pete poured out a mug of coffee then held the pot out to Robie who shook his head. “I went to the Green Lantern to check out a woman works there s’pose to be seein’ Kline. She wasn’t in. Day off. But the girl on the counter gave me her address. She’s got a room up on Gottingen. I went up and caught her in,” he said, sitting down in front of my desk

  “And?” I asked.

  “She’s definitely runnin’ with him but sez she hasn’t seen him for a coupla days. I asked if she knew Jencks and she did. She gave me good descriptions of both guys an’ Jencks’ address.

  “You figure she was straight with you?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “That it?”

  “On the way back I ran into Ken Frances, you remember him. Well, he wasn’t able to shed anythin’ new on Kline or Jencks, except to say Kline is known as a real hard case. Don’t mind bangin’ someone up. He did say he’s been hearin’ things on the street ‘bout the pilferin’ off the docks. I asked if he heard if there was a connection to Laurier, but he said no. However, he did say he’s heard a rumor about someone on the other side of the harbor might be runnin’ the operation...a Frenchman. He’s gonna nose around an’ get back to me.”

  “Good work,” I said. “Okay. Let’s chase down Jencks and bring him in for questioning.”

  “Got time to finish this?” he asked, holding up his mug. “It was a chilly walk back.”

  “Yeah, go on,” I said. “I’ll take a walk upstairs an’ check in with Morrison. I’ll meet ya in the car.”

  “Thanks,” he said, getting up and going to his desk.

  Ten minutes later we were sitting in an unmarked squad car and maneuvering our way through traffic towards Jencks’ place on South Bland Street.

  The street was down in the south end of the city near Greenbank. Rows of old, tired looking houses, most no more than two stories high, ran the length of the street on both sides. There were not a lot of cars on the street, since most of those living around here could not afford one. This end of the city was a mix of rail tracks, warehouses, coal yards and sheds.

  A chain of grain elevators rose up behind the houses; a long row of high concrete silos standing side by side with a network of pipes connecting them across the top. There was also a large coal yard just to the west that supplied the railroad’s steam engines and most of the old tramp ships in the harbour with their fuel. I still remembered those black mounds from a shootout I had there last year.

  Number thirty-nine was a two-story wooden building, probably built during the last war as a two-family home. Now it was changed to accommodate up to four occupants. A block of granite sat under the bottom of the wood door. I reached for the latch and opened it. Inside, there was a narrow stair leading up on one side. At the end of the main floor hall, which was lit by a solitary bare light bulb, was a door. The only toilet for the whole building. There was another door on our immediate right. I stepped up and rapped on it. After a moment I heard someone moving around behind the door.

  “Yeah, whaddya want?” It was a man’s voice; raspy and deep.

  “Police,” I said, taking out my ID. “Open up.”

  We heard the sound of a sliding bolt then the door opened. A wave of stale cigarette smoke and the acrid smell of burning coal greeted us. The man standing in the door was dressed in a soiled singlet, heavy woolen work pants with suspenders hanging down the sides, and woolen socks. He was a big man: six foot, around two-eighty with thinning grey hair and barrel chested with a bulging gut that hung over a four-inch-wide leather strap he wore as a belt.

  “You Jencks?” I asked, showing him my ID.

  “Top floor on da right,” he grunted as he started to close the door.

  “He in?”

  “How da fuck I know.” He closed the door.

  “Nice fella that one,” Pete said sarcastically.

  I turned and headed up the stairs with Pete close behind me. When we reached the top floor, I went and rapped on the door. Nothing. I rapped again.

  “Looks like no one’s home,” Pete said behind me.

  “Yeah. Let’s go,” I said.

  Back on the ground floor, I rapped on the door again.

  “What?” the old man snapped when he opened up.

  “Jencks. You any idea where he hangs out?”

  “Shit. I ain’t his mate fer Chrissake.”

  “Think. You ever hear him say where he goes?”

  “Only place I ever ‘eard ‘im say was the Chink’s place down on Victoria an’ Ma’s place. Now, dat it?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Thanks for your cooperation.” The only reply I got was a closed door in my face.

  The place he mentioned was a Chinese eatery in a converted old house down on Victoria Road near Inglis Street. We suspected the owners were running illegal gambling and bootlegging operations somewhere in the building, probably in the basement, but couldn’t prove any of it; the buggers were clever. We heard rumors that it was also an opium den.

  “Think there’s any point goin’ down there?” Pete asked once were back on the street.

  “No. If Jencks is there, he’d probably be out of sight,” I answered.

  “So whadda we do then? Wait for him to come back?”

  “Let’s head back to the dock. I want to have another talk with the dock manager, Mike Cameron. Somethin’ ‘bout that office isn’t sitting right with me. We can come back later.”

  Pete smiled, then said, “Yeah. There’re too many coincidences. You thinkin’ Cameron’s involved?”

  “Someone has to be. Think about what we know about what these guys been stealin’. Suggests that they knew exactly what, and when, those items were on hand. That can only mean someone’s passin’ them information.”

  “And the murder was jus’ a case of bein’ in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Looks that way, yeah, unless Slaunwhite was in on it and’ there was a fallin’ out,” I said as we reached the car and got in. “This could turn out to be a big headache for whoever is runnin’ the operation, an’ an opportunity for us to expose him.”

  “Uh-huh. Ya know if this guy is smart enough to set up this operation without any trace back to him, then he’s also smart enough to cover his arse, right?”

  “Hmm,” I said.

  I sat thinking while Pete drove. Laurier would have to do something. He couldn’t risk us laying our hands on Kline or Jencks. He’d know one or both of these guys would spill their guts about his operation if we braced them with a murder charge.

  “I seen that look before,” Pete said, breaking in on my thoughts. “What’re ya thinkin’?”

  “We had better get our hands on these guys, Kline and Jencks...fast. I got a feelin’ their days might be numbered.”

  “Huh?”

  “I was jus’ thinkin’, if they are part of someone’s gang and we get them for this murder, they’d likely talk in exchange for some kind of deal.”

  “Yeah, I s’pose so. You think he’d get them outta town?”

  “Maybe, but I’m thinkin’ he’s more apt to simply get rid of the problem...permanently.”

  “Jesus. What got you to that?”

  “I was remembering somethin’ Mulroney passed on to us ‘bout a call Laurier made to Montreal.”

  “Damn, you’re right. I’d forgotten ‘bout that. You think he’d bring someone in?”

  “It’s a possibility. He wouldn’t use anyone local. I can’t think of anyone who would do the job. Besides, it’d be too risky. It’s a small town an’ the villains know each other, an’ we’d be onto them pretty quick. Plus, he’d run the risk of exposin�
� himself.”

  “Damn,” Pete said again.

  There were no troop movements to the docks today, so we made it to the shed at pier twenty-four without too much difficulty.

  Mike Cameron wasn’t in when we entered the shed office. I looked around at three women and one man sitting at desks buried under loads of documents. One of the female clerks, a woman in her forties with her hair tied back in a bun at the back of her head, approached us.

  “You’re that detective, Robichaud, yes?” she asked when she stopped in front of us.

  “Good memory,” I said, tipping my hat. “This is Sergeant Pete Duncan.”

  “I remember. We met the other day when you found that, uh, blood. How can I help you?” she asked, eying Pete.

  “I’m lookin’ for Mr. Cameron.”

  “Sorry. He’s out for the rest of the day. There’s a meeting up at Naval Headquarters. The convoy office routinely calls meetings with the dock managers to go over loadings for the convoy.”

  “I see. Okay. Jus’ let him know I stopped by an’ would like to have another chat. He can call me at the station.”

  “Certainly. Is that it?”

  “Actually, I do have a question for you. Is there somewhere quiet where we can talk?”

  She eyed me warily for a moment. “Outside in the parking area, I suppose. Let me get my jacket.”

  Pete and I exited to the outside and waited for her to come out.

  We did general background checks on everyone working at this pier for any irregularities or connections to known criminals and the like. Everyone checked out...so far as we were able to go. I had asked Mulroney to dig a bit deeper from the RCMP side as well.

  A moment later she stepped out of the door. In the daylight she looked a bit younger than I first estimated, maybe in her mid-thirties. She was not bad looking either: average height and weight with a slender figure. I couldn’t tell much more since she wore casual slacks and flat shoes. I noticed she wasn’t wearing a wedding band.

  “Your name is Agnes Sullivan, isn’t it,” I asked when she reached us.

  “That’s right. Most people just call me Aggie. What is it you wanted to talk about?”

  “Cigarette?” Pete asked, holding out an open pack of Player’s Navy cut.

  “No thanks. Don’t smoke. Filthy habit.” Pete closed the pack and put it back in his coat pocket.

  “I know you must have been questioned by the Navy people because of the nature of your work,” I said.

  “That’s right.”

  “And because of that work you must be aware of the possibility for some pilfering.”

  She hesitated a moment before answering.

  “I’ve heard rumors, yes,” she said cautiously. “Is that what this is about? I thought you were investigating the death of Mr. Slaunwhite. Oh dear, you think there’s a connection, don’t you?”

  This is one smart woman, I thought, as I studied her.

  “Maybe, maybe not. I have to look at every angle,” I said. “Tell me more ‘bout these rumors.”

  “Just the usual things you hear. I try not to pay any attention to them.”

  “But they have something to do with the stealing, yeah?” Pete asked, joining in.

  “Sometimes, but mostly it’s just some of the men griping about someone or other not doing their share of the work, or about one of the foremen. That sort of thing.”

  “But you are aware that things are goin’ missin’?”

  “Of course,” she said. “It’s our job to keep accurate tallies of everything that passes through this shed.”

  “An’ you pass this information on to the Navy?” Pete said.

  “Yes, of course, through Mike, er, Mr. Cameron.”

  “Have you seen any sort of pattern to these shortages?” I asked.

  “You mean, like what sort of things are going missing?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, now that you ask, yes, I have. It seems that most of the shortages have been canned goods, cigarettes, that sort of thing. You know, items that can be sold on the street.”

  “Hmm. And the Navy knows this?”

  “Uh, I don’t know,” she said, “I would imagine so.”

  “Whaddya mean? Didn’t you tell them that?”

  “Well, no. I mean, I don’t report to them personally. Like I said before, Mr. Cameron handles all that side.”

  “Did you tell him this?”

  She nodded her head. “I mentioned it to him a couple of times but didn’t think it was my place to say too much. Besides, he would see everything for himself from the reports and worksheets.”

  “I see,” I said.

  “I’m not in trouble, am I?”

  “No, you’re okay.”

  “Thank you,” she said, sounding relieved.

  I had a thought.

  “Would you be interested in helpin’ us in our investigation?”

  “Helping you?” she asked cautiously. “How?”

  “Nothin’ dangerous or risky. An’ nothin’ that would put your job at risk.”

  “Go on.”

  “I want you to compile a list of the goods gone missing with the dates of the discovery, say for the last two convoys. An’ if possible, can you find out which men were sent down from the hirin’ hall on those dates.”

  “I suppose so. The first part is easy enough since that information is already on file. The second part would be a little more difficult.”

  “How-so?”

  “All matters dealing with the men are handled by Mr. Cameron. My concern is the tracking of incoming cargoes and the loading of the ships.”

  “Is that usual? You know, that he would handle manpower?”

  She shrugged, nodding. “I can’t speak about the other piers, but, yes, he handles that part at this one.”

  “I see,” I said. “So? Does that mean you’ll help us?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Great. You can call Pete here, or me, anytime you find anything. If we’re not in, call back and leave a message. One of us will get back to you, okay?”

  She nodded, looking at Pete. I noticed that he had been watching her closely since she came out of the office. There was something a little different in his look this time, not the usual sizing up of a potential playmate. Interesting.

  We said our goodbyes and she turned to go back inside. Pete took a few moments to watch her walk away.

  Back in the car, I looked at my friend as he started the car.

  “Whaddya think?” I asked.

  “Good move gettin’ her to work with us,” he said, shifting into gear and easing onto the road.

  “Nice lookin’ woman,” I said, giving my friend a side long glance.

  “Not bad.”

  “Surprised she isn’t married.”

  “Huh? How’d ya get to that conclusion?”

  “An’ you call yourself a detective,” I said with a chuckle. “No ring.”

  “Oh,” he said with a sheepish smile.

  “Jus’ drive us back to the station,” I said, shaking my head with a smile.

  * * *

  James Coopers spotted the envelope on the floor under the letter slot in the door when he entered his flat. There was no stamp or writing on it. He knew right away who had dropped it off. Bending down, he scooped it up and, after removing his overcoat, headed for the kitchen. He dropped the envelope on the wooden kitchen table. Next, he went to the stove and grabbed the wooden scoop sitting atop the pail of coal and pushed it in, shaking a full load into it. He lifted the metal plate on top of the stove and spread the coals over the hot embers inside, watching them for a moment, making sure they ignited. After replacing the plate, he picked up the kettle from the back of the stove and set it on the front plate.

  Sitting down, he picked up the envelope, cutting the flap with a butter knife. There was only a half sheet of paper inside, as always. He read the roughly scribbled note written with a pencil: ‘Same place at four today.’

  It w
as from his contact at Naval Headquarters. His name was Jim Kirkland and he worked at the headquarters building on Barrington Street as a janitor. He was an old black man, maybe in his sixties, Coopers recruited to get any information he could and pass it on to him...for a price. He was easy to find and turn, having no loyalty and an appetite for booze and the doxies. Coopers checked his watch — two-forty-five. He had time for a hot tea.

  It was ten to four when Coopers arrived at the meeting place, located at the end of Barrington Street where a pedestrian tunnel ran under the rail tracks, exiting into the dock area at the other end.

  There was always plenty of traffic going through the tunnel, mostly servicemen and dock workers either heading to the docks or some bootlegger up on Inglis Street. They could meet and talk without drawing any attention — just a couple of blokes sharing a cigarette and talking.

  He spotted Kirkland sitting on a small rock outcropping about twenty feet to the side of the tunnel entrance and joined him.

  Kirkland had been providing Coopers with information on convoy movements for the last six months. As far as Coopers knew, Kirkland thought he was using the information to lift goods from the incoming cargoes for the black market. But now, he began to suspect that Kirkland might have put two and two together and worked out he had a more sinister use for the information. He would have to be careful with this man from now on.

  “Gotta butt?” he asked, when Coopers settled in beside him.

  Coopers pulled out a pack of Buckinghams and took one out, passing it to him. Kirkland immediately put it between his lips and lit up with the wooden match he had been chewing on, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

  “Okay. So whadda ya got?” Coopers asked.

  “‘That Mountie fella, ya know, Mulroney, was talkin’ wit dat Brit Navy guy. Seems, an alert came in from somewhere in Upper Canada, maybe Montreal I t’ink, ‘bout a suspected Gerry agent operatin’ ‘ere.”

  “Yeah? When was this?’

  “A coupla days ago.”

  “Why do think I’d be interested in this?’

  “Dunno,” Kirkland said, giving him a funny look, putting a finger beside his nose and shrugging his shoulders.