Sorrowful Road (Detective Allan Stanton Book 3)

by Alex MacLean

  “So,” I say, “you never wanted to talk things over. You were trying to get me to go home because they were there.”

  “They asked me to. What was I supposed to do?”

  I close my eyes. “Did they tell you why they wanted that stuff?”

  “Evidence.”

  “For what?”

  “They think you murdered someone.”

  “Really? Who?”

  “Kate,” she says. “Kate Saint-Pierre.”

  Opening my eyes, I lick my lips. My mind is a whirring jumble of thoughts.

  “That night you came home from Halifax,” Heidi says, “you called me her. You called me Kate.”

  I find myself unable to speak.

  “Who was she?” Heidi asks. “What happened?”

  I shut off the light in the room and walk to the window. Peeling back the drapes, I look outside.

  Heidi is still talking. Her voice sounds small and distant now, as if it’s coming from a mile away.

  “Tell me it’s not true. Tell me this is all a big mistake.”

  In the parking lot three stories below, I see a police car idling right behind my car. There’s a cop standing by my driver’s door, jabbing the beam of a flashlight through the window. A clear cover encases his cap to keep it dry, and his black raincoat is slick with rain.

  “Jacob?”

  The cop moves to the passenger window, shining the beam inside. He straightens up then returns to his own car.

  “Jacob, are you there?”

  “I’m here.”

  “Tell me this is a mistake.”

  Through the passenger window of the police car, I can see the soft glow from a swivel-mount laptop. The cop’s fingers are typing away on the keyboard.

  “Jacob?”

  “It’s not a mistake, Heidi.”

  “What?”

  “I killed her. I strangled her with a piece of that rope the cops took.”

  A sharp intake of breath comes across the line.

  “Good-bye, Heidi,” I say and hang up.

  47

  Oakville, November 1

  10:18 P.M.

  Audra watched Allan jack a round into the chamber of his Beretta before slipping the pistol back into his shoulder holster. There was a cold cast to his eyes, almost fierce.

  She nudged his elbow. “Hey, you okay?”

  He turned his face slowly toward her and said in a flat tone, “All right. You?”

  Audra appraised him for a brief moment. No, he didn’t seem all right. That much she could tell. She had no idea what was going on inside his head, but his look alone concerned her.

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  He gave her a curt nod. “Good.”

  They stood in the parking lot of Starbridge Suites. Denis was inside, gathering information from staff. The two officers who had led them to the hotel stood near their cruiser, talking to one another. Their names were Mark Beckett and Théo Latour.

  Beckett was a young kid with a smooth face and worried eyes. Latour was a beefy man with a ruddy complexion and sloping shoulders. His buzz cut looked as if it could prick your fingers.

  Two additional police units had arrived and parked by the exits.

  The rain had stopped, but murky clouds continued to roil overhead, threatening to open up again. A cold breeze stirred the naked branches of the small maple trees, shaking off a patter of rain. It hit the cruiser’s hood in a plunk of drops.

  As Audra tucked her hands into her jacket pockets, she saw Denis coming across the parking lot.

  “Stark has room three-oh-five,” he called out. “Third floor.”

  Audra said, “Does hotel staff know if he’s in there?”

  “No. Only one girl on the front desk tonight. She called up to the room, but no one answered. She said she would unlock the door if we need her to. She’d prefer that to us kicking it in.”

  “Stark’s car is here,” Allan said.

  Denis raised his eyebrows. “Doesn’t mean he is.”

  Audra looked up at the bank of windows running along the third floor of the hotel. About half of them were lighted; the others were dark. She wondered if Jacob Stark could be up there watching them as they spoke.

  Allan said, “He won’t answer the phone if he knows we’re after him.”

  Denis leaned his head toward him. “You think Mrs. Stark told him about us?”

  Allan turned his palms up. “Does it matter?”

  “I bet she did,” Audra said. “She didn’t want to believe what we told her. Kept saying there must be a mistake. Put yourself in her shoes. Curiosity would get the better of her. It would me. I’d want to hear his side of the story.”

  Denis glanced down at his feet, shuffling them a little, and tugged on his left earlobe.

  “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he said.

  “Regardless,” Allan said, “we’re not going to know if he’s up there by dillydallying out here.”

  Audra threw him a glance. From the tension in his face and rigid posture of his body, he looked ready to burst out of his skin.

  No, she thought, he was definitely not all right.

  “Let’s do this,” Denis said. He called over to Beckett and Latour. “You boys come with us.”

  The five of them went into the hotel lobby. The young woman behind the front desk looked to be in her midtwenties—pretty, with long auburn hair swept over one shoulder. Her name tag read: Megan.

  “I have the key,” she said, holding it up.

  “Great,” Denis said. “Can I have that and return it when we leave?”

  Megan frowned. “Ah…okay. You don’t want me to open up for you?”

  Denis shook his head. “It’s safer if we do it, miss. We don’t want you up there in case things get hairy.”

  Megan tossed him the key.

  “Thank you, miss.”

  They rode the elevator to the third floor. The doors chimed open to a long corridor with cream walls and dark carpet. Room 305 was at the end.

  Beckett and Latour positioned themselves on the left side of the door. They removed their pistols and held them at the low ready. Audra joined Allan on the right side of the door. By reflex, she pulled out her Sig as Allan took out his Beretta and dropped it down behind his leg.

  Denis rapped his knuckles hard on the door four times, and the sound carried down the quiet corridor.

  They waited. No one answered.

  Denis knocked again.

  “Mr. Stark. This is Detective Denis Gagnon with the Ontario Provincial Police. Open up, please.”

  Still no answer.

  “Hear anything inside?” Audra asked him.

  Denis pressed his ear to the door for a moment then shook his head. “Nope. All quiet.”

  Inserting the key into the lock, he slowly nudged the door with his foot. It opened about an inch before the swing-bar lock inside caught it.

  “He’s home,” Allan said.

  “Mr. Stark,” Denis called through the crack. “Police. Open up. We know you’re in there.”

  More silence.

  All at once, Allan let out a groan, and then he rammed his shoulder into the door. There came a loud crack then the clang of metal as a piece of the lock hit the floor. Raising his pistol out in front of him, he rushed in.

  Audra followed close behind.

  The inside resembled a one-bedroom apartment—living room, kitchenette, and separate bedroom. They found Jacob Stark in the bedroom sitting at a desk and writing in a journal. He was dressed in a white shirt and black pants. Audra found herself staring at the faint scratch on his left cheek.

  “Put the pen down,” Allan ordered, aiming the pistol at Stark’s head.

  Stark glanced over at him with an apathetic expression. “Almost done.”

  Denis came around the side of the bed, Beckett and Latour beside him.

  “Why didn’t you answer the door?” he asked.

  “Thought I’d enjoy a few more seconds of freedom.”

  Audra
said, “So you know why we’re here?”

  Stark continued to scribble on the page. “Figured as much.”

  “Your wife told you.”

  Quiet, he gave a listless shrug.

  “We have a warrant for your arrest,” Denis said. “For the murder of Kate Saint-Pierre on October seventeenth. In Halifax, Nova Scotia.”

  Audra watched Stark’s reaction, but he never batted an eye at the charge. Just continued to write.

  “You need not say anything,” Denis said. “You have nothing to hope from any promise or favor and nothing to fear from any threat whether or not you say anything.

  “Anything you do or say may be used as evidence. Do you understand?”

  “Just the one charge?” Stark asked.

  Denis frowned. “Well, so far. We also have you under suspicion in a whack of other murder cases. Mary Driscow, Guillaume Mills, Li Chen, Hailey Pringle, Ted Taylor, Marian Duffy, Lionel Selman, Dave McNeil, Mollie Corradetti, Karen Leacock, Gilda Melanson.”

  Audra noticed Stark had reacted to only one name with a pause and a frown—Hailey Pringle.

  “Sounds like we’ve both been busy.” Setting the pen down, he leaned back in the chair. “Was that eleven people?”

  “Yes.”

  “You sure on that number? On those names?”

  Denis put his pistol away. “You were in Huntsville when Li Chen was murdered. You stayed at the Huntsville Inn. Remember?”

  Stark lowered his gaze, said nothing.

  Pistol still aimed at Stark’s head, Allan said, “You came home with a big gash by your eye. Told your wife you broke up a fight at Moose Delaney’s. Only you didn’t. Li Chen gave you that gash, didn’t he? That’s why you cut off his fingertips. So no one would find your DNA. The same reason you cut off Kate Saint-Pierre’s fingertips. Because she gave you that scratch on your face.”

  Stark looked up at him, and a tiny smirk lifted the corners of his mouth. He appeared unnervingly relaxed.

  “You fucked up with Mary Driscow, though,” Allan continued. “You left DNA on her. And we have your profile.”

  Stark cocked his head to the side. “Sure it’s mine?”

  “We will be soon enough.”

  “Mary Driscow.”

  “Yeah,” Allan said. “Remember her?”

  The smirk on Stark’s face widened into a smile. “I remember them all. Each name. Each face. Each little noise they made. Each look of fear and confusion they gave me when they realized it was game over.”

  Audra felt her breath catch in her throat. Everyone else stared on in stunned disbelief.

  Closing his eyes, Stark inhaled a deep breath through his nose, as if he smelled something pleasant.

  “Strawberries,” he said softly. “That’s what I remember most about Mary Driscow. She smelled just like strawberries.”

  Audra tensed as she noticed Allan’s index finger leave the frame of the Beretta and curl around the trigger.

  “You bastard,” he said through clenched teeth. “Do you realize how many lives you destroyed?”

  Stark looked at him again, and whatever human element his eyes held before suddenly disappeared into a swirl of something dark and hateful. His smile tapered off only by a fraction.

  “Answer me,” Allan said.

  “More than you know, cop.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Stark laughed, the sound sudden and harsh in the small room, and it seemed to light a fire in Allan’s eyes. With slow deliberation, he pressed the muzzle of his Beretta to Stark’s forehead. Stark never so much as flinched.

  Raising his hands in the air, Denis took a step back. “Hey, take it easy, Detective.”

  Beckett and Latour shifted their stances and traded worried glances.

  Audra said, “Al, what are you doing?”

  Stark’s gaze slid over to her then back to Allan. The smile remained on his face.

  “Do it, Al,” he urged. “You know you want to.”

  “Oh, I want to,” Allan said. “Believe me.”

  Audra watched a bead of sweat roll down the side of Allan’s face. The muscles in his jaw pulsed like a rapid heartbeat.

  “Al,” Audra said. “We got him. Don’t do this.”

  “Don’t listen to her, Al,” Stark said. “Go ahead. See how exciting it feels.”

  Audra spun on him. “You shut your mouth.”

  “What was that you just told me?” Stark said to Denis. “I have nothing to fear from any threat whether or not I say anything? What do you call this?”

  Slowly, Allan withdrew the Beretta and holstered it. Turning away, he walked out of the hotel room.

  “Al,” Audra called after him, but he kept going.

  Denis forced Stark to his feet and slapped the handcuffs on him.

  “You don’t know how much this makes me happy,” he said. “Finally hearing these bracelets click on your wrists.”

  Stark looked back over his shoulder at him. “Small things for small minds.”

  Denis paused. “Mr. Jacob Stark, I am arresting you for the murder of Kate Saint-Pierre. It is my duty to inform you that you have the right to retain and instruct counsel of your choice in private and without delay.

  “Before you decide to answer any questions concerning this investigation, you may call a lawyer of your choice or get free advice from Duty Counsel. Do you understand?”

  “Understood, Kojak,” Stark said.

  Denis shook his head. “You’re not the first to call me that, smart ass.” He turned to Beckett and Latour. “Take him over to headquarters. We’ll be there in a bit.”

  As they began ushering Stark away, Denis called out to them. “Officers, wait.”

  Beckett and Latour stopped and turned to him.

  “Stupid question,” Denis said, “but where is headquarters again?”

  Latour smirked then hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Take a right at the traffic lights outside. Keep going until you come to North Service Road. It’ll be at the third set of lights you hit. Headquarters is up there on the left. Can’t miss it.”

  After Denis thanked them, he turned to Audra with an incredulous look on his face.

  “What was that with Detective Stanton?” he said. “I honestly thought he was going to shoot that guy.”

  So had Audra, but she kept the thought to herself.

  “He’s had a rough few months,” she said.

  Denis lifted his eyebrows. “Oh?”

  She nodded and left it at that. Walking over to the desk, she picked up the journal Stark had been writing in. It had a black leather cover and a tie fastener. There were five identical journals piled neatly on the edge of the desk.

  She began to read the last entry:

  The cop doesn’t leave. He’s obviously watching my car in case I try to make a run for it. And where would I go?

  I guess I always knew my luck would run out eventually. It does for everyone. The past ten years have left me with a lot of pleasant memories that I can pull out at random and soak in warm reminiscence. Those will get me through the tough times. Who knows, maybe the next phase of my life will bring me more memories to bask in. I know I won’t be able to tamp my urges for long. They will get the better of me sooner or later.

  Two more police cars pull into the parking lot. They stop momentarily on each side of the original car. Then they drive off around the building and disappear from my sight. I don’t see them leave on the streets, so I assume they’re hanging out back, keeping an eye on the fire exits.

  I wonder who’s going to come up to my room. Maybe they’re sending in SWAT.

  Maybe not.

  Two more police cars arrive. These park under the trees at the far side of the parking lot. Two uniformed cops emerge from one. Three plainclothes cops emerge from the other. One is a female with blond hair. The other two are males. One has dark hair; the other is bald. He looks just like Kojak. He crosses the parking lot and goes into the hotel. A few minutes later, the phone in my room ri
ngs.

  I feel my freedom is growing short. Do I have any regrets? Other than getting caught, I have only one—the girls. I’m going to miss them. I wonder if Heidi will bring them to visit me. Probably not.

  She’s going to have a hard time making ends meet. But I’m sure she’ll manage. For the sake of the girls, I hope she does.

  Heidi was right about one thing—I couldn’t look after Jade and Jaleesa properly. I couldn’t give up my job to stay home with them. I guess I never appreciated all Heidi did.

  The cops are in my room now—five of them—pointing their guns at me. The dark-haired one in a tweed coat is telling me to put the pen down. Kojak is asking me why I never answered the door. Why make it easy for them?

  This will be the final log in my journals. I hope to start a new set once I’m settled in my new life.

  Until then, arrivederci.

  Audra leafed through the journal, skimming over the dates on the pages. They were in chronological order.

  One by one, she flipped through the pages of the other five journals. The dates stretched back years.

  “What are they?” Denis asked.

  “Private journals,” she said. “Looks like he kept a log of everything he did. Hundreds and hundreds of pages’ worth.”

  48

  Oakville, November 1

  10:51 P.M.

  Allan paced the corridor outside the hotel room. His pulse pounded in his ears. His body felt amped up from the adrenaline rushing through his bloodstream.

  He couldn’t remember ever feeling such crazed fury as he had in front of Jacob Stark. He’d wanted to shoot the man. Right there. Right then. It took every ounce of willpower he possessed just to turn and walk away.

  In that moment, he knew he had to leave Major Crimes. He’d lost all control and perspective in that hotel room. He’d allowed his emotions to get the better of him, and in his job, that was a big no-no.

  The ravages of PTSD were taking their toll on him. Worst of all, he was letting it happen.

  Allan leaned against the wall and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself down.