Sorrowful Road (Detective Allan Stanton Book 3)

by Alex MacLean

  “Why does he choose them?” Allan said. “They have no specific physical or personal characteristics.”

  The room went quiet for a good minute.

  Denis spoke first. “Maybe he initially starts off looking for someone specific. His dream victim, so to speak. But he finds they’re not easy to come by. So he settles for a substitute instead.”

  “That’s possible,” Allan said. “What if he’s just picking people at random?”

  Denis widened his eyes. “That’s a scary assertion.”

  Audra chimed in, “Can we agree he never knew any of them?”

  “Yes,” Denis said.

  Allan gave her a single nod.

  Audra added, “He used a con approach or surprise attack on each victim.”

  “No sexual patterns to the crimes,” Allan said.

  “Uh.” Denis scratched at his cheek. “I read something in Driscow’s autopsy report. The ME determined sexual interaction.”

  “Based on a suction lesion,” Allan said. “Yeah, Coulter and I had this discussion the other day.”

  “Did he make a mistake?”

  “No. That’s where the DNA came from, after all. It’s just that I felt I’d put too much of my focus on the sexual aspect of the crime.”

  “Okay,” Denis said.

  Audra flipped her gaze from one man to the other. “The suspect’s targeting area is similar.”

  “Parks,” Allan said.

  Audra turned to Denis. “The areas where Chen and Pringle were found, are they only accessible by foot?”

  “Yes. Yours?”

  Audra nodded. “What’s that tell us about the suspect?”

  Allan folded his arms. “He’s physically fit. Maybe he’s into jogging. Hiking. Likes the outdoors.”

  “Driscow and Saint-Pierre were murdered in Octobers,” Denis said. “Li Chen in a June. Hailey Pringle in September.”

  “Three people strangled,” Allan said. “One bludgeoned.”

  Denis looked at him. “He chooses a method that brings him into close contact with his victims.”

  “Almost intimate,” Audra said. “Maybe you were right, Al.”

  Denis leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table. “Right about what?”

  “Al thinks this guy might be a thrill killer.”

  “Hmm.” Denis looked up to the ceiling and exhaled. “He gets off on the rush. Interesting.”

  “I’m leaning toward that theory,” Allan said. “Take out the sexual motivator, and what’re you left with?”

  Denis smiled. “Uh-huh.”

  “If these cases are related,” Audra said, “he’s killing interprovincially.”

  Allan lifted his eyebrows. “Then where’s he from? Here, there, or somewhere else?”

  Audra shrugged. “There’s a bigger question—are these his only victims?”

  25

  Burlington, October 24

  8:05 P.M.

  The girls don’t know what to make of them.

  “They’re moccasins,” I say. “Made by natives out west.”

  Jade scrunches up her face. “Mock…a…zins?”

  Her effort to pronounce the word melts my heart, lifts a big smile on my face. I feel so proud of her. She still trips over longer-syllable words, but she’s only five. Every once in a while, I catch her saying liver room for living room, or sketty for spaghetti.

  “I like them, Daddy,” she says, giving me a hug.

  I look at Jaleesa. Clearly, she doesn’t like them. She stands there, her mouth hanging open and staring at the moccasins in her hands.

  “What do you think, honey?” I ask.

  She turns to me, and I see daggers in her eyes. “Why’d you get these?”

  “I thought you girls had enough toys.”

  “They’re ugly—”

  “Jaleesa.” Heidi appears in the kitchen doorway. “Have some respect. Your father is right, you girls do have enough toys. Besides, Christmas isn’t too far away. Santa will bring you more then.”

  “Santa isn’t real, Mommy.”

  I swear you can hear that proverbial record scratch, and the kitchen drops into silence. Heidi and I turn our heads to Jade at the same time. With an incredulous stare, Jade looks at Jaleesa, then at me, and finally at Heidi.

  “Santa isn’t real?” she says.

  Her chins quivers. I can tell the waterworks are close.

  “No, he’s not,” Jaleesa tells her. “It’s all a lie.”

  “Jaleesa”—Heidi raises her voice—“go to your room. Now.”

  Jaleesa throws the moccasins on the floor and leaves in a huff. She stomps down the hallway to her room. Heidi follows her.

  Eyes moist, Jade turns to me. “Is Santa real, Daddy?”

  “Do you think he’s real?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I think he’s real too.”

  That puts a hopeful smile on her face. She gives me another hug. Then she runs off with the moccasins.

  Clenching my jaw, I close my eyes for a second. I never wanted to push the Santa Claus myth on the girls. Heidi allowed that lie into our home when the girls were very young. She’d bake cookies for them to leave out on Christmas Eve. She’d even take a bite out of the cookie and write a thank-you note from Santa.

  Kids of Jade’s age marvel at the world and create their own fantasies regardless of what we do. Why set them up for such a letdown? It’s like the Easter Bunny story. Or the Tooth Fairy.

  Soon enough, our kids will realize it’s a dog-eat-dog world out there, that they can’t always get what they want, that their friends will cut their throats, that they’ll struggle through tremendous odds, that their family members will die off around them, and then their own health will break down and they’ll die, too. With any luck, they’ll have some heirs to carry on their memories. Otherwise, they’ll be forgotten like an old song.

  Grabbing a beer from the refrigerator, I twist off the cap and down a mouthful. A compulsion burns inside me to walk right back out the door, jump in my car, and drive off somewhere. I don’t know where, just far away from here. Ten minutes home, and I have one daughter throwing a hissy fit and Heidi not speaking a word to me. Jade is the only bright spot.

  Heidi marches Jaleesa back into the kitchen. My daughter’s face is red, and her arms are tucked tight into her sides.

  “What do you tell your father?” Heidi says to her.

  Jaleesa lowers her head, unable to meet my eyes. “Sorry.”

  I look at Heidi. “Why shame her into apologizing?”

  She glowers at me. “It’s about respect and gratitude.”

  I stare at her, realizing our time apart hasn’t improved her mood. I take another drink of beer as Jaleesa picks the moccasins off the floor and carries them to her room.

  I call after her, “I’ll try to get you something better next time. Okay, honey?”

  “Okay,” she answers.

  Heidi turns to leave.

  “Hey,” I say.

  She looks back over her shoulder.

  I try to break the ice between us. “The girls told me last night they liked the Treats In Our Streets.”

  She turns fully around, crosses her arms. “Yeah, they had fun. We all did.”

  “Good, good. I forgot to ask them what they went as.”

  “Jaleesa dressed up as a princess. Jade went as a ladybug.”

  “A ladybug.” I smile. “Like her backpack. Cute.”

  “Yes. Jaleesa was cute too.”

  “How’re things with you?” I ask. “You were in quite a mood when I left Thursday.”

  “A mood?” She raises an eyebrow, fixing me with a glassy stare. “Interesting way of putting it.”

  I gaze at her, remembering how that mountain biker’s face morphed into hers. I realize it was probably a mind trick. Sometimes my mind does seem to have a mind of its own. It likes to torment me, to take me down the dead-end streets and dark alleys of my past. It tricks me into seeing things, even believing things that aren�
��t real.

  Heidi’s voice interrupts my thoughts. “At least you came home with no cuts and scratches this time.”

  “Jesus,” I say. “You’re still on that?”

  She continues to stare at me with a look that a lizard would give a cricket or a mealworm.

  “I took your advice,” I say, smiling.

  She tilts her head. “Oh? And what’s that?”

  “I used the electric razor you gave me.”

  My joke doesn’t change her expression.

  Jade comes back into the room wearing the moccasins. She boasts an ear-to-ear grin and a sparkle in her eye.

  “Mommy,” she says. “Look.”

  Heidi smiles down at her. “Wow, aren’t those lovely?”

  “Yes.” Jade comes over to me. “Look, Daddy.”

  “I’m glad you like them, honey.”

  “I love them.”

  I kneel down and kiss her on the forehead.

  “You’re special to me,” I say. “You know that?”

  She gives me an earnest expression only a child can. “Yes.”

  “I want to make you happy.”

  “Jaleesa too?”

  I nod. “Jaleesa too.”

  “And Mommy?”

  I glance across the kitchen to see Heidi has left, and I feel a shadow creep over me.

  Jade notices it, because she asks, “Daddy? What’s wrong?”

  I flash her a smile. “Nothing, honey. Daddy’s just tired from his flight.”

  “And Mommy?” she repeats.

  “Of course,” I say. “Mommy too.”

  26

  Halifax, October 24

  8:13 P.M.

  “Jesus,” Audra said. “I don’t know if it was testosterone or male stubbornness. But I almost couldn’t stand it in there.”

  Allan stood at his office window, absently watching the light traffic on Gottingen Street.

  “What do you mean?” he said.

  “You, getting a bit standoffish with Gagnon.”

  “Oh.”

  Audra moved up beside him. “Hey, you okay?”

  Expelling a breath, Allan ran a hand through his hair. He had a terrible sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  “This case,” he said. “The whole thing is getting to me.”

  “I’ve noticed. It’s frustrating me too.”

  Allan turned to her. “It’s more than that,” he said. “Ever feel like you’re running against the clock?”

  Audra frowned. “In this job, always. The worst sound in our world is the tick of the clock.”

  “Not that.”

  “Then what?”

  Allan tipped his head back, shutting his eyes for a couple of seconds. “I stopped by the Driscow house last Monday.” He grimaced. “I don’t know why. I just wanted to see Mary’s parents. See how they were doing.”

  “Guilt?”

  Allan nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Something happened.”

  “I found out Joyce, Mary’s mother, died in August. I didn’t know. And to make matters worse, Bill Driscow has advanced liver cancer. Doctors gave him a few months. By the looks of him, I doubt he even has that long. I wish I had never gone over there. I’ve been thinking about him ever since.”

  Audra didn’t say anything. Allan found her waiting him out with a concerned gaze.

  He said, “I want to give him closure. Do you think we can do that? Do you think we can catch this guy before Bill Driscow dies?”

  “Remember what you told Gagnon. That he’s taking the Pringle case too personally. You’re doing the same with the Driscow case.”

  Allan felt the truth of that. “Keep your emotions in check, right? Don’t wear your heart on your sleeve. That’s what they tell us. I managed to do that in the first few years on this job. Young. Full of piss and vinegar. I thrived on the challenges.”

  “I remember that man,” Audra said. “I was the same way.”

  “You still are.”

  Audra smirked. “Not so young anymore. But still full of piss and vinegar.”

  “So what are your thoughts on these other cases?”

  “Like I said earlier, I’m reserving judgment.”

  Allan walked back to his desk, sat. “I’m trying not to get my hopes up. I just want to catch this guy so fucking bad.”

  Audra took a seat across from him. “So do I.”

  “You must have some theories.”

  “A few, yeah.”

  “The Pringle case looks random to me,” Allan said. “You get that feeling?”

  Audra spread her hands. “We can’t rule out that it’s connected to Li Chen.”

  Allan tilted his head to the side. “What are you thinking?”

  “Let’s consider the possibility. What if Hailey Pringle was the suspect’s first? It could explain the difference in his behavior.”

  “When I look at that case, I see a suspect who seemed spontaneous. Sloppy. Rushed, even.”

  “Nerves. He doesn’t have experience in killing. He’s not comfortable with it yet. He hasn’t developed his technique.”

  Allan could see her point. “There’s also a space of thirty-four months between the Pringle and Chen murders. Repetition makes you better, more comfortable. That’s quite a lull.”

  “You think he might’ve committed other murders in that time frame?”

  “We have to consider it,” Allan said. “Cross all the t’s.”

  Audra clasped her hands together. “Let’s check into unsolved murders out there. Those specifically committed in parks.”

  “How far do we go back? Four years? More?”

  “Keep it at four for now,” Audra said. “See how many cases we find.”

  “There’s an average of ninety unsolved homicides in Canada every year.”

  “I know. Let’s focus on Ontario and the Maritimes. That’ll keep our number down a bit.”

  Something new popped into Allan’s head. “The homicides in Huntsville preceded ours.”

  “I thought about that,” Audra said. “You think the suspect used to live there and moved this way after Chen’s murder?”

  “I wonder.”

  Audra shrugged. “Dunno, Al. For all we know, he doesn’t reside in either location.”

  “A transient?”

  “Another angle to consider.”

  Allan groaned. “Shit.”

  He picked up the phone and called Denis Gagnon.

  “Detective Stanton,” Denis answered. “What are you saying tonight?”

  In the background, Allan could hear glasses clinking, people murmuring and laughing.

  He said, “Doesn’t sound like you’re at the hotel.”

  Denis chuckled. “Henry House. I’m a bit gutfoundered. Never ate all day. The bellhop at the Westin told me to try the steak-and-ale stew. You know the place?”

  “Never been there, but I heard good things.”

  “Two-minute walk from the hotel,” Denis said. “Did you call it a day? Or still at the department?”

  “Still here,” Allan said. “Detective Price and I are racking our brains.”

  “Hmm. What conclusions have you come to?”

  “No conclusions. Just more questions.”

  “Uh-huh. I hear ya.”

  “I have a few questions for you,” Allan said.

  “Shoot.”

  “What airport did you use to fly down here? Pearson?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s the closest one for you?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about Billy Bishop?”

  “It’s an extra hour’s drive from Huntsville. Why?”

  Allan said, “I’m just wondering—if I were the suspect and lived in the Huntsville area—what airport I’d use to fly down here.”

  Denis paused. “Pearson and Billy Bishop are your likely choices. Billy Bishop if you wanted to fly Porter. Pearson for Air Canada and Westjet.”

  “Excuse my lack of knowledge about Huntsville, but how far is it from To
ronto?”

  “Two hundred kilometers.”

  “A two-hour drive, then?”

  “Thereabouts.”

  “If I were the suspect living here, I’d have to line up a car for once I got to Toronto.”

  “You could do that,” Denis said. “Or take a bus. Shuttle Ontario has two departures going a day.”

  Allan watched Audra leaning forward in the chair, her eyes narrowing.

  “I can see the hamster running that wheel in your head,” Denis said.

  “See where I’m going?”

  “I think so.”

  “We need to get passenger lists from the airlines,” Allan said. “See who flew to Halifax from Toronto and vice versa in the days leading up to each murder.”

  Denis blew into the receiver. “Cross-reference for matching names.”

  “Exactly,” Allan said. “We’ll also check with bus stations and car-rental companies. The whole nine yards.

  “Detective Price and I also discussed looking into unsolved homicides through Ontario and the Maritimes. Have a firsthand look at them.”

  Denis said, “I’ll handle the Ontario side.”

  “Deal.”

  “What time do you want to meet in the morning?”

  “Just a second.” Allan put his hand over the receiver. He asked Audra, “What time in the morning?”

  She said, “Seven?”

  Allan nodded. “Seven okay with you?”

  “That’s six Ontario time,” Denis said. “But it’s fine.”

  “Just don’t have too many beers.”

  Denis chuckled again. “One glass of McAuslan…er…maybe two.”

  Allan smiled. “See you in the morning.”

  As he hung up, Audra checked her watch.

  “Quarter to nine,” she said, standing. “Better get home. Try to catch some sleep, Al.”

  Allan watched her walk out the door. Then he leaned his head back over the chair, gazing up at the ceiling.

  Despite his exhaustion, he couldn’t relax. Shutting his eyes, he tried to empty the doubt and depression from his mind. Found it hard to do.

  Tomorrow was a new day, he told himself. Maybe it would bring something good for a change.

  The thought made him shake his head.

  Who the hell was he fooling?

  27

  Burlington, October 24

  8:35 P.M.