Murder on the Docks

by H. Paul Doucette

  “You must be the police?” she said, in a quiet but confident voice as she looked up at me.

  “That’s right,” I answered. “I’m detective John Robichaud. You must be Mrs. Humbolt?” I had my ID and badge already out and showed it to her.

  “Yes, that’s right. Please. Come in.” She stepped aside and I entered, removing my hat. She closed the door and stepped in front of me.

  “This way.” She led me into the living room. A quick look around and I could tell this was a woman with taste and a sense of style. The furnishings all looked new and likely purchased from Simpson’s and Eatons — Halifax’s two high end retailers. I spotted a small piano sitting in a corner with an array of photographs on top of it, mostly family pictures from what I could see. Many were of two young men, probably her sons. They looked old enough to be in service.

  She noticed me looking at the pictures.

  “My sons. They’re away now. In the Navy. They’re both on the corvettes. May I offer you a cup of tea? Please. Sit down,” she offered, turning away from the piano with a sad smile on her face and gestured to a plush sofa.

  “No thank you, ma’am,” I said, sitting down and placing my hat beside me. “Now, what’s this you say you saw?”

  She sat down in a Morris chair opposite me. It must’ve been her usual chair, I thought, seeing a magazine holder filled with sewing paraphernalia on the floor beside it.

  “Yes, of course. I was just there by the window,” she said, pointing to one of two front room windows. “That’s when I saw a man run out of the alley beside the house across the street. He looked frightened, almost desperate, if you understand what I mean. Then a moment later another man came running out of the house with a gun in his hand. It was a funny looking thing. He raised it and fired it, I think”

  “What do you mean, ‘funny looking’, and why do think he fired it?” I asked, making notes on the pad I had taken from inside my jacket.

  “Well, I have seen handguns before, not many mind, but enough to recognize when one doesn’t look normal. This one had a very long barrel, you see. As to him firing the thing, well I saw the barrel jump but didn’t hear any report.”

  Interesting, I thought. What was someone doing shooting a silenced pistol in this neighborhood?

  “Then what happened?”

  “The man with the gun dashed back inside the house and a few minutes later came out with another man. They both got into a large black sedan and took off down the street after the running man.”

  “Do you know who lives in that house?”

  “Yes. A single woman. Her name is Shirley Halliday.”

  “She live there on her own?”

  “I’m not sure, really. She keeps to herself. Although, I have seen other women, young women now that think about it, come and go, but not on a regular basis, and then there are the cars with men inside who often visit.”

  “Hmm, I see, I said. I knew right away what I was dealing with here. A bordello being run for swells and men who want to ‘play’ without risk of being caught or compromised. I finished up after Mrs. Humbolt give me a detailed description of the two men. One definitely matched our description of Ed Kline.

  I thanked her for her help and left. When I reached the car, I had Wilson get out and follow me across the street. I climbed the few steps up to the door and knocked with my ID in one hand.

  After a moment the door opened, and I faced a short attractive woman. She wore a pretty frock and had an apron on.

  “Yes?” she said, warily.

  “Police,” I said, showing her my ID.

  “What do you want?”

  “Are you Shirley Halliday?” I asked, stepping over the thresh hold. She put a hand on my chest, stopping me.

  “Yes. What do you want?” she snapped.

  “I’m takin’ you in. Get your coat.”

  “Wha...what do mean? I haven’t done anything.”

  “I said, get your coat,” I repeated, ignoring her question.

  She stood defiantly, bracing me.

  “What’s the charge?”

  “Accessory to an attempted murder,” I said bluntly.

  “Murder! What murder? No one has been killed here.”

  I spotted her coat on a coat tree and reached for it, passing it to her.

  “Put it on and let’s go.”

  “This is bullshit,” she said, taking the coat and slipping it on. “‘I want a lawyer.”

  I took her arm once she had the coat on and led her outside.

  “Wait a minute,” she snapped, pulling her arm away from grip. “I have to lock the door.”

  I finally got her to the car and put her in the back. I got in beside her.

  “The station,” I said to Wilson.

  Back at the station, I took Halliday inside, stopping at the duty desk for any messages and had the duty officer enter her name into the logbook as a witness to an attempted murder. I didn’t recognize him. He was young and fresh faced with curly light brown hair.

  “Where’s the regular duty officer?” I asked.

  “Got called away,” he answered. “Family emergency, I think.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Kelly, sir. Jim Kelly. Just graduated from the academy.”

  “Hi. I’m Detective Robichaud.”

  “Yes sir, I know.”

  “Okay, good. Is Detective Duncan back?”

  The officer shook his head, “Not yet.”

  “Thanks,” I said. I turned away and led Halliday to the interview room down the hall. I put her inside and told her to sit down, then left her alone, still demanding a lawyer. I locked the door as I left. I wanted her to sit there to stew and consider her situation before interrogating her.

  I was on my way to the staircase leading upstairs when the duty officer stopped me.

  “I just got word that Detective Duncan has radioed in requesting additional men. We’ve sent another car with two men.”

  I wonder if that meant he had Kline cornered. Well, I’d find out soon enough, I had my hands full at the moment with the Halliday woman. My gut was telling me that everything was coming together, and I had to make sure we kept a tight control over the situation, namely, making sure there weren’t any ‘loopholes’ or screwups that could mess up the case. I went upstairs to discuss everything with Morrison.

  Fifteen minutes later, I was back in the interrogation room with Halliday. I placed a hot mug of tea in front of her then sat down.

  “I want to call my lawyer,” she demanded, glaring at me from across the table.

  “You haven’t been officially charged...yet, so you don’t get to call anyone,” I said.

  She started to get up, saying, “Then I’m free to leave.”

  “Sit down,” I said.

  She hesitated a moment, still staring at me.

  “I said, sit down. Your not going anywhere.”

  She sat back down. I could see the defiance and anger in her eyes.

  “The bad news for you is that we have a witness who is prepared to swear under oath, that she saw two men exiting your house today. One we believe was a man we want for murder; the other was a man with a gun who was shooting at him. Care to explain any of this?”

  I saw the change in her eyes...she looked nervous.

  “Do you know someone named Kline? Ed Kline?”

  She shot me a quick look. Gotcha, I thought. Time to squeeze her.

  “I know the men that was seen running away from your place is Ed Kline, so don’t even think about lying to me. Got it! Now answer the question.”

  “I want a lawyer. I’m not talking to you without a lawyer,” she said, defiantly.

  “If you insist then you’re forcing me to officially lay charges. That the way you wanna go?”

  She just sat there glaring at me.

  “Have it your way,” I said, standing up. I went to the door and called one of the uniforms to come into the room.

  “Go to the front desk an’ get me a formal charg
e sheet then come back and take down the following charges against this woman, got it?” I asked.

  “Yes sir,” the constable said, heading out of the room. He returned a few minutes later with the sheet of paper and sat at the table opposite Shirley Halliday.

  I returned to the table and stood beside the officer facing Halliday.

  “Shirley Halliday. I am placing you under arrest and charging you as an accessory to murder, and as a witness to an attempted murder and, for obstruction of justice in a police investigation. Anything you say or relay from this point on will be taken into evidence and used against you in court. Do you understand these charges?”

  I watched as her expression changed from contempt to fear in the time it took me to read the charges. A moment later, I looked down at the constable. “Did you get everything?”

  “Completely, sir,” he said, staring at the woman.

  “Good. Take the prisoner to processing and book her on the charges I stated then put her in a cell. Oh yeah, and let her make her call.”

  I looked back at her. “Last chance.”

  She continued staring at me and said nothing. Her face a mask of fear and confusion. I turned and headed for the door as the constable stood up and went to stand behind her. He reached and took her arm, lifting her up. “Let’s go.”

  Just as I reached the lobby area, I saw Pete come in behind two constables who held the arms of a man. in handcuffs

  “Let me guess,” I said. “Ed Kline?”

  “Yep,” Pete said with a grin as he shoved Kline forward.

  “Seems he was dumb enough to head for the woman’s place after all.”

  “Was she there?”

  “No. Figure she’s at work. Probably didn’t even know he was goin’ to show up.”

  “He say anything?”

  “The usual shit.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Put him in the interrogation room and make sure you leave two men to watch him, then come see me in the squad room.”

  “Okay,” Pete said.

  Five minutes later Pete was sitting in front of my desk.

  “So. Fill me in,” I said.

  He gave a detailed rundown on what happened when he arrived at the Hollister place. Apparently, Kline had gone there to hole up. When Pete went to the door of her rooms Kline started making threats from inside, that’s when Pete called for more men. He said he figured when Kline saw the other officers arrive, he realized he was finished and decided to give himself up.

  “Good work,” I said. “And no one got hurt.”

  “Thanks. By the way what’s up’s?” he asked nodding to Halliday.

  “After you left, a call came in from the north end. A woman claimin’ she saw a man shooting at another man who was runnin’ away.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I went up an’ interviewed her. From the description she gave me, it looks like she possibly saw Kline fleeing from a house across the street. She definitely saw the shooter come out of the house. A few minutes after that, he and another man got into a car parked beside the house and took off after Kline. I arrested the woman livin’ there. She’s in a cell.”

  “Jesus,” Pete said. “This means we got everybody in this sorry business. You think that place was some sort of safe house?”

  “Probably. More likely it was operatin’ as a private bordello servicin’ a ‘special’ clientele. Whatever the case, I think we’ve busted up somebody’s money maker.”

  “Let me guess...Laurier?”

  I just smiled.

  “So, what now?”

  “Now we squeeze everything we can out of our pigeons. Let’s go talk to Kline.”

  We headed for the interview room where Kline was sitting at the table still cuffed. A uniformed officer stood behind him. Pete and I went and sat down opposite him.

  “Right,” I said. “Here’s the situation. We have enough evidence and witnesses to put your neck in the noose for the killing of Louis Slaunwhite. The only chance you have to avoid the rope is to completely cooperate with us.”

  Kline stared at me as I spoke. I could see the fear in his eyes.

  “What’re ya sayin’? I won’t swing if I talk?”

  “I’m sayin’, if you cooperate an’ tell us everythin’ we want to know I’ll talk to the Crown Prosecutor an’ tell him you cooperated. But make no mistake, even if you help an’ he takes the death penalty off the table, you’re going down for the rest of your life, probably in Dorchester.”

  “Jesus,” he muttered, then, “Yeah...okay. Whaddya want ta know? I need a smoke an’ a drink.”

  I signaled the officer to remove his cuffs then go get three cups of coffee. Pete reached inside his jacket pocket and extracted a pack of Buckingham cigarettes, tossing them on the table. Kline each out and picked up the pack, took out a cigarette and lit up with a match he took out of his pocket.

  “First. Do you confess to killing Louis Slaunwhite?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Describe what happened. For the record.”

  Kline gave us a detailed description of the events on the pier leading up to the killing.

  “Good. Now tell us everything you know about the operations and who runs it.”

  Ten minutes later we had a complete description of the theft operation, including the names of people involved from the stevedore hiring hall to the dock managers running the sheds. He even gave up Maurice Laurier as the ringleader running everything.

  “That everything?” I asked when he finished his statement.

  “Yeah, that’s all I know.”

  “Right. One more thing. What do you know ‘bout the house in the north end and the woman livin’ there?”

  “Not much,” he said. “Laurier runs a special cathouse outta the place an’ she runs it. I hear she’s his woman too.”

  “What about this man who was shootin’ at you?”

  “Don’t know ‘im.”

  “Why was he shootin’ at you?”

  “Dunno. I figure da boss figured to kill me ‘cause a business wit Slaunwhite.”

  Pete and I stood up and I ordered the officer to take Kline and book him then to lock him up.

  “Holy shit,” Pete said as we walked back to the squad room. “Do you know what we got here?”

  “Yep,” I said, smiling. “An’ I’m headin’ upstairs to break the good news to Morrison. It’s time to get us a few warrants.”

  “Laurier?’

  “The first one I’m askin’ for,” I said, heading for the stairs.

  * * *

  Shirley Halliday was taken to a room where an officer took her fingerprints and photographs. Once that was done, the officer took her to a room with a telephone in it. He stepped outside, leaving her alone.

  She picked up the phone and dialled.

  “Hello?” Laurier said into her ear.

  “We got a serious problem,” was all she said in a low voice.

  “Shirley? What’s wrong, what happened?”

  “I’ve been arrested. I’m in jail now,” she said, a hint of panic in her voice.

  “What! On what charge?”

  “Accessory to attempted murder for one.”

  “What fuckin’ murder?” he demanded.

  “That man you sent over here. When Kline escaped, your man ran out into the street and shot at him. He was seen by a neighbor who called the cops. What’re we going to do?”

  “Merde. Let me think.” The line went quiet for several minutes.

  “Maurice?” Halliday said.

  “I’m here. Okay, listen. Have they formally charged you yet?”

  “Yes. I just finished being fingerprinted.”

  “Okay. Here’s what you do. From now on keep your mouth shut. Don’t tell them anything. I’ll start calling people. You have a lawyer or someone like that?”

  “No,” she said. “Maurice, I’m scared. I don’t want to go to prison.”

  “I know, chere. I’ll arrange to get a lawyer, so don’t worry.”

  �
�That might not be so easy...they caught Kline.”

  Jesus Christ, Laurier thought. He realized he was in danger now and had to act quickly if wanted to avoid arrest himself.

  “Look, jus’ hang in there. I got to go now an’ make those calls.”

  “Okay, but hurry...please.” Then the line went dead.

  Laurier dialled for the operator. When she came on the line, he asked her to connect him to a Montreal number. Once he was connected, he spoke with the same man he called earlier for five minutes, outlining his plans to shut down his operations and get out of town within the next twelve hours. He was told to make sure Gagnon got away as soon as he could.

  After the call, he sat at his desk and began making his plans for leaving Halifax. The main one being the transfer of his money to his account in Montreal. The businesses he set up would run for awhile on their own, at least until the bosses sent someone down to take over. He had to make sure that none of his men knew what he was up to because someone would screw up his plans. It was too bad about Shirley, he thought, with no sense of regret. There were always women to warm his bed and satisfy his needs. He stood up and headed upstairs to see Gagnon.

  “We have a problem,” he said when he entered Gagnon’s room.

  Gagnon was sitting in the overstuffed chair cleaning his gun; a glass of amber coloured alcohol sat on the side table next to the chair. He looked up and said, “Que?”

  “That business earlier across the harbour. Someone saw you and called the cops.”

  Gagnon shrugged and then reached for his drink.

  “Unfortunate, yes. So?”

  “I spoke to Montreal. We have to leave. Now,” Laurier said still standing in the door. “I have everything in place for just this situation.”

  Gagnon gave him a questioning look.

  “I have a car with a full tank of petro stashed away out back of the house. Can you be ready in an hour?”

  “Oui,” Gagnon said as he started to put his gun back together.

  “Bon,” Laurier said. “Be downstairs in an hour at the back door. I have to make a couple of calls before we go.”

  Gagnon stood up and picked up a loaded magazine and rammed it into the pistol grip of the .9-mm then racked a round into the chamber before putting it in the shoulder holster he wore.