by Alex MacLean
If only life came with a pause button.
Seth knelt before the little girl, touched her cheek.
“Tomorrow,” he promised her. “You can play outside tomorrow.”
An exaggerated frown pulled at Lily’s face and her shoulders drooped. “Awww.”
“I know, honey. But I have to get our supper ready and you’re too young to go out by yourself.”
“Can we have grilled-cheese sammiches?”
Seth smiled at his child. “Sure we can.”
Lily’s face lit up. “Yay.”
Seth pulled her close to him, kissing her forehead. “I’ll get it ready.”
“Okay, Daddy.”
Seth stood up and watched Lily run over to other Barbies on the floor, picking them up and positioning them around a table in her toy townhouse. She turned her face back toward him and smiled.
“They’re going to have supper too.”
Seth smiled at her. “That’s nice, sweetheart.”
In the kitchen, he put a frying pan on the stovetop, took out a loaf of bread from a roll-top box on the counter. When he approached the fridge, he stopped at Lily’s crayon drawing held on the door by two heart magnets. The picture showed a stick figure family—mother, father and daughter holding hands. A bright yellow sun with a happy face. Two blue clouds. A red house with a green patch of lawn in front.
As if in dream, Seth traced a finger over the figures. He wished he could crawl inside the drawing, inside his daughter’s imagination and live there forever, like she did in his.
Suddenly, someone behind him called his name.
Seth straightened and lowered his hand from the drawing. The voice, so pretty and so familiar like no other, rode up his spine like an icy fingertip, bristling the hairs on the back of his neck.
Oh, Jesus.
Seth stood very still, afraid to turn around. Was the voice real or an imaginary one that had slipped out from some fold in his brain?
When it came a second time, Seth felt his mouth dry up. Slowly, he turned to see Camille standing by the table, dressed in a floral sundress. She was as beautiful as ever, but she wasn’t her physical self. He could see right through her.
Seth opened his mouth, found it impossible to speak. He watched her point a slender finger to his laptop on the kitchen table. The screen showed the day’s edition of the Chronicle Herald. Headlines across the top page read: Halifax Death Considered Gang-related.
The photo below showed two Ident techs carrying out bags from Todd Dory’s apartment.
“Did you do this, baby?”
Seth swallowed. “Yes.”
“Why?”
Jesus, he loved her so much. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and hold her and never let her go.
A sliver of pain pierced Seth’s voice. “You’re not real.”
“I am.”
“No.”
She fixed him with a sad gaze. “You were a hero, baby. My hero. You saved lives.”
Tears filled his eyes and he stared at the blurred image of her. “I couldn’t save yours.”
“You have to move on.”
“I can’t.”
“It’s going to kill you.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do.”
Seth hung his head for a moment and the tears rolled down his cheeks. Shame and guilt spread through his stomach, making him feel sick. He looked up again and asked, “What’s it like in heaven?”
“It’s cold, baby. So cold.”
Camille suddenly became a pixilated image on Seth’s retinas, breaking apart, fading from his vision.
“Don’t go,” he whined.
“I have to.”
“Take me with you.”
Camille held out a grainy hand and Seth reached and reached until he overbalanced and went tumbling into the table, his hand mashing the keyboard of the laptop.
“Jesus Christ.”
He sank to his knees in the middle of the floor, put the heels of his hands to his forehead, and wept. Wept for Camille. Wept for Lily. Wept for the promising life they’d all built together. A life pried from his hands, ripped up right before his eyes, and its pieces strewn across his mind to litter the dark vaults of his memory.
He sat back on the floor and tortured himself with images of Camille. He remembered the first time he saw her in the stairwell of the apartment building where he rented a small pad on South Park Street. Corny, yes, but the moment he laid eyes on her, he knew she was that one true love seldom found in life.
He remembered Camille at her door the night he brought her flowers and that gorgeous smile on her face upon seeing them.
He remembered when they first made love and how caught up he was in the softness of her skin, the swell of her breasts, and the vanilla smell of her perfume.
He remembered Camille in the hospital’s delivery room, sweating and exhausted. With pride and wonder, Seth stared at the baby in her arms, bundled in a blanket and knitted hat. The little girl’s face was pink, still swollen from birth, and she had a slightly pointed head. For the first time, Seth realized babies were born with hair.
Seth stood up and his legs shook. He wanted to punch holes in the walls, bite down on something, anything, until he heard it crack between his teeth. Instead, he stumbled over to the tap and filled a glass with water. He opened a cupboard door and brought down two bottles of medication from the top shelf. One bottle had green tablets inside; the other had blue. Seth dumped a mixture into his palm and chased them down his throat with the water.
Then he stood at the sink with his fingers gripping the edge of the countertop. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes. Kept them closed for several minutes until his mind calmed down and the world began to feel right again.
6
Halifax, June 8
5:03 p.m.
Audra sat on the other side of the table inside the windowless interview room, trying to gauge the body language of Wendy Drummond. Dressed in baggy cargo pants and a black t-shirt that had a horseman of the apocalypse printed on the front, Wendy was pale and nervous. She inspected her nails, bit at them, and turned her wedding ring on her finger from side to side in a repeated cycle. The fluorescent lights captured with harsh clarity the haunted, fearful look in her eyes.
Audra found herself staring at the colorful sleeve tattoos on the woman’s arms, impressed at the artistic detail—a koi fish with blue waves on either side and black kanji written above; a beautiful geisha in a floral kimono surrounded by pink cherry blossoms.
“I’m sorry this happened,” Audra said. “Are you all right?”
“Better now.”
“Feel up to talking?”
“Yes.”
“Would you like something to drink? We have water, pop, or coffee.”
Wendy gave a quick, weak smile and shook her head. “No. I just want to get this over with.”
“Sure.” Audra picked up her pen, poised it over a page in her notebook. “How do you know Todd Dory?”
“Through work. I did most of his tattoos.”
“And where do you work?”
“Skull ‘N Bones Tattoo Studio.”
“On Agricola?”
“Yeah. You familiar with us?”
Audra nodded. “I had some work done there about six years ago.”
Wendy tilted her head down a bit, cocked her right eyebrow. “Get out. You have tats?”
“Just one.”
“Where?”
Audra pushed back in her chair and removed her right shoe. Then she propped her leg on the table to reveal a blue rosary tattoo circling her ankle and a cross dangling on top of her foot.
Wendy leaned in. “Swweeet. Who did that?”
Audra appraised her. She seemed to be breaking the ice, developing a good rapport, and easing Wendy’s tensions.
“Eldrick?” Audra said, and frowned. “I think that was his name. Bald head. Lip rings. Lots of tattoos.”
“Oh, yeah. He left ‘bout two years ago.�
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“Where to?”
“New Minas. Opened his own studio.”
“Cool.” Audra slipped her shoe on again. “Ever hear from him?”
“No. Our owner does. I guess Eldrick’s doing well for himself.”
“Tattoos are becoming quite popular.”
“Yeah, they are.” Wendy sat back, perched an ankle atop her other knee, and began bobbing her raised foot up and down. “A lot of people are getting inked. We’re seeing all walks of life coming through our door now. Funny how fads are.”
“What made you want to get into that profession?”
“My passion for art.”
“Are there many female tattoo artists?”
“A few. It’s really dominated by the males though.”
“I know what you mean there, sister.” Audra picked up her pen again. “Okay, back to business. When’s the last time you saw Todd.”
“Yesterday.”
“What time and where?”
“‘Bout three or so. He stopped by the studio.”
“To get some work done?”
“No. To look at some stencils I did up for him. We were making plans to finish the sleeve on his left arm. Right now he has a half-sleeve and plate.”
“Was he alone?”
“Yes.”
“How long did he stay?”
“Half an hour. He really liked one of the stencils I did, but wanted some minor stuff changed.”
“Did you make the changes?”
“Yeah, last night. I told him I would do them when I had some down time. I work afternoons and evenings.”
“Is that the reason you went to his place this morning?”
Wendy paused. “Well, not exactly.”
“Please continue.”
“We were supposed to meet for coffee at ten. He was going to look over the changes I made.”
“Where at?”
“Tim Hortons.”
“Which one.”
“On Spring Garden Road.”
“That’s pretty close to his home.”
Wendy nodded. “Yeah. When he didn’t show up, I went over to his place.”
“So you obviously knew where he lived?”
Wendy hesitated. “Yeah.”
“Been there before?”
“A couple times.”
Audra paused, considering that. “Did you call him first?”
“‘Bout three times.”
“Leave any messages?”
“Two.”
Audra touched her chin with the pen, narrowed her eyes. “How long have you known him?”
“‘Bout three years.”
“Where did you first meet?”
“At the studio. He started having work done ‘round that time.”
“And you became friends through your work?”
Wendy’s throat worked. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and her bangs fell over her forehead. Audra noticed she’d gone back to fidgeting with her wedding ring.
“Yeah.” Wendy spoke to the floor. “We became friends.”
Audra regarded her a moment. Friends. Sure.
“Have you ever slept with him?” she asked.
Wendy’s head shot up and gave her a hardened look. “What?”
Audra repeated the question, holding Wendy with her eyes.
“How’s that your business?”
Audra spread her hands. “Hey, I’m just crossing the t’s and dotting the i’s. If you had a personal relationship with him, I really need to know.”
“Am I a suspect now?”
Audra stared at her. Before the interview, she had listened to the 911 call by Wendy upon finding the body of Todd Dory, a woman so hysterical her words were barely discernible. The call ended with the sound of sirens in the background.
Audra had run a background on Wendy and found out the woman was clean, not so much as a parking ticket.
“No, you’re not a suspect,” Audra said in a reassuring tone.
Wendy’s gaze bounced off her face and settled on the tabletop. Then she opened her mouth to say something, but closed it up again. She leaned her head back, inhaled a deep breath, and blew it out toward the ceiling.
“All right.” Her voice took on a weary patience. “I slept with him a few times.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“Year or so.”
“Think your husband knows?”
Mute, Wendy squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“What do you think he’d do if he found out?”
“I don’t know. Kick me out. Divorce me. But nothing like I saw this morning.” Wendy dramatized a shudder. “Never.”
Audra sat back. She put two fingers over her mouth and drummed them against her upper lip. She knew jealousy and feelings of betrayal drove some people to do terrible things—murder their spouses or their lovers or even their own children. Could this case be as clear-cut as that?
“Was your husband home last night?” she asked.
Wendy raised her hands, palms up and out, her face red and angry. “Here we go. You think he did this?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you’re insinuating it.”
“I’m not insinuating anything.”
Wendy bent forward in the chair, arms crossed as if to hold herself in. Audra wondered if she was going to hurl all over the floor.
“My husband was home all night,” Wendy said. “He got up this morning at five-thirty, went through his morning ritual, and went off to work at six-forty.”
“Where does he work?”
“Saint Mary’s University. Custodial services.”
“What’s his name?”
“Justin.”
Audra wrote it down. “Drummond?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have kids?”
“Not between us. He has a son through a previous marriage.”
“Does the son live with you two?”
“No. His mother.”
“How old is he?”
“Christopher is six.” Wendy sank back in the chair, kept her arms crossed. “Do you want his address and phone number?”
Audra smirked at the sarcasm. “No, but I would like to get back to Todd. Have you ever met any of his friends?”
“A couple. They had work done at the studio too.”
“Do you remember their names?”
Wendy frowned. “Lee…and Blake. I think.”
Audra flipped back a couple of pages in her notebook, looked at an entry she made earlier. “Lee Higgins and Blake Kaufman?”
“Yeah, that’s them.”
Audra nodded. She knew of both men. They were the other remaining members of the Black Scorpions. Two scary-looking dudes who were bad, bad, bad.
“How well do you know them?” she asked.
“Know them to see them. I did a couple of their tattoos. Whitey did the rest.”
“Whitey?”
“Dennis Richardson. He’s an artist at our studio. Everyone calls him Whitey because of his white hair. I mean it’s pure white. Like Leslie Nielsen. Only Whitey’s thirty-eight.”
“Okay,” Audra said, “I gotcha. Did Todd ever talk about Lee or Blake? Ever mention having any problems with either of them?”
“No. He referred to them as his brothers.”
“Brothers, huh?”
Audra thought about the three R’s in the gang culture: reputation, respect, and retaliation. How long before more blood was spilled in Halifax? Lee Higgins and Blake Kaufman would obviously be out looking for whoever murdered Todd Dory. There would have to be consequences.
Audra’s cell phone suddenly went off. She recognized the number on the display as the medical examiner’s.
“Excuse me for a sec,” she said, getting up from her chair and stepping outside the room to the hallway. “Hello, Doctor.”
“Are you busy?” Coulter asked.
“I
’m doing an interview. What’s up?”
“There’s something I need to show you. Might be important.”
“Okay. Are you at the morgue?”
“Yes. I just finished the post. I’ll be here for at least another ninety minutes.”
“I’ll be down as soon as I can.”
“Thank you,” Coulter said, and hung up.
Audra put her phone away and leaned against the wall, feeling the day settling into her muscles and bones. She’d spent all afternoon working the neighborhood around the crime scene, coming away with nothing more than innuendo, someone else’s theory of what had happened. Drugs, always the drugs. Perhaps they were right. Perhaps it was the most logical explanation.
Half of the doors Audra had knocked on never answered. Those would be part of tomorrow’s to-do list.
A uniformed officer walked by, carrying a report and a cup of black coffee with a stir stick inside. As Audra watched the gray steam lifting from the cup, she realized she hadn’t eaten anything all day.
She stepped back inside the interview room to find Wendy in the same position she’d left her.
“Sorry about that,” she said, and sat down at the table.
“How much longer?” Wendy asked in a voice stripped of patience.
“Just a few more questions.” Audra picked up her pen. “You last saw Todd yesterday, right?”
“Yes.”
“Did he seem different in any way? Bothered? Scared?”
Wendy pushed out her lower lip. “Nope. Same as always.”
“Did he say where he was going when he left the studio?”
“No.”
Audra held her eyes. “Fast forward to this morning. What time did you arrive at his place?”
“‘Bout ten-forty or so. I left Tim Hortons at ten-thirty.”
Audra cleared her throat and took a brief moment to double check the times written in the first officer’s report she had with her. Dispatched at 10:48. Arrived at the scene at 10:53.
“Was the door locked when you got there?”
“No.”
“So you opened it?”
“Yeah. I knocked a few times first.”
“Then what happened?”
Wendy blew out a breath. “The smell hit me.” She twisted her face up as if she had just sunk her teeth into a lemon. “God, it was bad. I thought I was going to puke right there.”
