One Kill Away

by Alex MacLean

  “What did you see?”

  “Blood. No, wait.” Wendy stared straight ahead. “I turned on the light first. Then I saw the blood.”

  “The place was dark?”

  “Kinda. I think the blinds were down.”

  “Did you touch anything besides the light switch?”

  “No. Once I saw Todd…” Wendy’s voice cracked. “Everything went fuzzy.”

  Audra watched tears form in her eyes. Wendy wiped at them with the back of her hand before they could fall.

  “I think we’ll wrap this up, Mrs. Drummond,” Audra said. “You’ve been through enough today. Is there anything else I should’ve asked you?”

  Wendy gave her a bewildered look. “I don’t think so.”

  “If you think of anything,” Audra slid her business card across the table, “please call me at once. I might be in touch with you again.”

  Wendy looked at the card for a second, then put it in her purse.

  “You take care, Mrs. Drummond.”

  They shook hands.

  “You, too,” Wendy said.

  As she heard the door brush closed behind her, Audra wondered how or if Wendy would explain her day to her husband.

  She gathered up her folders, stacked them together against the table, and walked out of the room. She grabbed a coffee from the lunchroom and then headed off for the morgue to see what Coulter wanted.

  7

  Toronto, June 8

  5:22 p.m.

  The cabby had been right about the Mini Mart on the corner of Anthony Road, a small store with white burglar bars over the windows and an icebox out front. Atop its roof, a huge sign advertised messages for the RBC, some morning show on Global, and a warning against curbsiders.

  Allan glanced at his watch: 5:22. The walk had taken only ten minutes from the hotel. With the sun warm on his back, he turned down Anthony, looking around at the wartime homes filling the neighborhood. Small and inexpensive to build for returning veterans of WWII, they harkened back to socio-economic hardships, of empty pockets and penny pinching. Most were built from red brick. Some were similar; many others differed in style and character. Each one had a square patch of lawn in front and a paved driveway on the side.

  Allan checked the civic numbers beside doorways, on the front of porch columns. Behind him, the rush-hour hustle and bustle of Dufferin Street dwindled to faint traffic noises. A breath brought him the pleasant smell of fresh mowed grass and two houses up, clippings covered the sidewalk.

  Allan continued past a wooden privacy fence edging someone’s yard. Then he saw it—a quaint, 1½-story brick home with white shutters and a tiny vestibule. He felt a knot squeeze his stomach tight as his gaze settled on Melissa’s red hatchback in the driveway.

  He thought of her in their bedroom that crisp fall evening, tear-streaked with a tissue crumpled in her hands, telling him she was leaving. Like a desperate litany, his mind recited the painful words in the note she’d left for him two nights later. Gone to Mom and Dad’s. Brian can continue school from there. For his sake I tried to make this all work.

  Allan drew a breath, let it out slowly. He cut across the lawn to the front door. His finger hesitated a moment before poking the bell. He heard a chime ring inside, then footsteps approaching. In the door window, someone drew aside a curtain, fingernails scraping glass.

  Melissa opened the door in a blouse and jeans. She’d cut her hair, Allan saw. A bob style now, trimmed around her jawline. It made her look elegant, professional, still beautiful.

  She seemed to blink a little, perhaps from surprise, perhaps because she was uncomfortable. An awkward smile played on her lips.

  “Al,” she said in a tight voice.

  Allan continued to stare at her, finding it hard to speak. It struck him that he hadn’t overcome the anger and grief associated with their lost marriage, the uprooting of his son to another province. How many times had he wished to relive those final days before she left him, to make things right.

  “When’d your flight get in?” she asked.

  “This morning,” he said softly.

  Melissa tossed a glance out to the street, to the driveway. “Did you take a cab here?”

  “No, I walked.” He tipped his head to the left. “I’m just over at the Holiday Inn.”

  “On Dufferin?”

  “Yup.”

  “Wow, you’re close.”

  “Thought it would be convenient. I don’t know the area here.”

  “Good idea.” She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder. “Brian’s getting cleaned up. We just had supper. Are you hungry?”

  A small headshake. “No, no. I ate at the hotel.”

  With a tentative air, Melissa crossed her arms, speechless for a moment. Allan could sense her discomfort, her fighting for something to say. Just like him.

  “Do you have any plans with Brian this weekend?” he asked.

  “Why? What do you have in mind?”

  “I’d like to take him to the Toronto Zoo on Saturday.”

  Melissa gave him a big smile. “He’ll really enjoy it. I heard it’s a great place.”

  “I was told it’s about a twenty, thirty minute drive.”

  “At least thirty. It’s over in Scarborough.”

  Allan paused. Cab fare there and back would probably be on the expensive side, and it lessened the freedom to look around different places. A rental seemed to be the best option.

  He asked, “Can I borrow Brian’s booster seat?”

  “You can borrow my car, Al. The booster’s already there for him.”

  “Thanks, but no. I…I don’t want to impose.”

  “You wouldn’t be.” Melissa twitched her shoulders. “But I understand.”

  “What are your plans for Brian’s birthday.”

  “The usual. Cake and presents.”

  “I bought him a remote-control monster truck.”

  “Oh, cool. He’ll love that. Is it gas-powered?”

  “Electric. A little quieter and easier to take on the plane.”

  “I can’t wait to see Brian’s face.”

  “Me too.”

  Melissa lifted a strand of hair out of her eye. “The street here is pretty quiet. We also have a big backyard.” She paused, her jaw tensing. “You’re coming over for cake and watch him open his presents, aren’t you? Tom won’t mind.”

  Allan looked into her face. How awkward would that be? To sit inside the home of his ex-wife’s new lover, while Brian blew out candles and made a wish and opened his presents just as he had at his home in Halifax. Like it or not, this new man was not only part of Brian’s life now, but of Allan’s as well. Allan knew he had to shed that jealousy, that primal desire for competition, all for the good of his son.

  “Okay,” he said. “Yeah.”

  Melissa’s gaze turned soft, sad somehow. Without another word, she moved aside and let him in. As Allan followed her through the vestibule into the house, he forced himself to stop looking at her, to glance around.

  The home was larger than it appeared outside. The entrance doorway opened into a living room with almond walls, plush furniture, and an upright piano. The walnut finish on the piano gleamed and gave off a lemon scent of polish Allan could smell from where he stood.

  A half wall with white columns divided the room from the kitchen and Allan saw a man in there, shirtsleeves rolled up and red tie loosened, clearing dishes off the table. He was thin with smooth gray hair and a diplomat’s face. When he noticed Allan, he paused a moment, then set the dishes on the counter and came over.

  “Tom,” he said, extending his hand. “Tom Godfrey.”

  Allan accepted it, gave it a firm shake. “Allan Stanton.”

  Tom stepped back a foot, appraising him.

  “So, I hear you’re a police officer. No,” he pointed an index finger, “an investigator.”

  Allan felt his backbone tense. He wondered what else Tom had heard?

  Finally, he gave a curt nod. “Yes.”

>   “You must see some things on that job, what?”

  “At times.”

  Melissa cut in, “Al doesn’t like to talk about his work.”

  Tom blinked. “What? Oh, I’m sorry.”

  Allan waved it off. “No problem.”

  “I’ll get out of your hair. Nice meeting you.”

  “Likewise,” Allan said.

  He watched Tom return to the kitchen and begin stacking dishes on the rack inside the dishwasher. Then Allan turned to Melissa, who stood leaning against the hallway doorjamb.

  “Nice fella,” he said.

  Melissa made her voice tired. “I told you he was.”

  “Good to Brian?”

  “Yes.”

  Allan felt a deep, quiet pain in his heart. “Good.”

  Melissa gave him a look of pity, then swung her head around the doorway and called down the hall. “Brian?”

  From the back part of the house came Brian’s voice, “Yeah?”

  “There’s someone here to see you.”

  “Who?”

  Melissa snickered, shook her head. “Just come and see.”

  “Is it Dad?”

  “Yes.”

  Allan heard a door open, the scamper of feet on the hardwood floor. Brian appeared in the doorway wearing gray track pants and a graphic tee with the words, Let the game begin, across the front.

  “Dad,” he beamed, excited.

  His son seemed taller, Allan realized, since he’d last seen him in the fall. His chestnut hair was a bit longer too.

  “There he is.” Allan scooped him up and Brian clasped his neck.

  Face to face, they smiled at each other.

  “How’s my Little Man?” Allan asked.

  “Good. I missed you, Dad.”

  “I missed you too.” Allan glanced over Brian’s shoulder to see Melissa staring at the floor, a wounded look on her face. He cursed the day he’d given her permission to bring their son up here.

  “Who’s looking after Buddy?” Brian asked.

  “Our neighbor, Bob. Do you remember him?”

  Brian frowned a moment. “Yeah.”

  “How was your day at school?”

  “Good. We played freeze tag in Phys Ed.”

  Brian wriggled to the floor and tugged Allan’s hand. “Come see my room.”

  He led his father down the hallway to his bedroom. It was decorated similarly to his room in Halifax. Action figures of Toronto Maple Leafs’ players adorned his dresser—Phil Kessel, Luke Schenn, Terry Sawchuk. A huge Maple Leafs’ flag hung over his bed. There were toys and cars all over the floor.

  “Do you like it, Dad?”

  “I do. It’s very nice. A lot like your old room.”

  Brian laughed, looking around at his stuff. “Yeah. You and Buddy should move here to Toronto. Then we can visit like we used to.”

  With a heavy heart, Allan sat on the edge of his bed. He tried to smile.

  He said, “I’m going to make sure we see each other more often.”

  Brian paused, watching his face. “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  Allan watched his son run over to his closet and pull out a soccer ball, turn with it in both hands, a hopeful spark in his eyes.

  “Want to go outside and kick the ball around, Dad?”

  Allan stood up. “Sure, let’s go.”

  They passed the ball around in the backyard, played keep-away, and chase the parent where Brian tried to follow Allan while dribbling the ball in front of him and not looking down at it. For the first time in what seemed like forever, they were father and son, laughing and enjoying themselves.

  They played until the golden hour, when the sun hung just above the horizon and fired its rays straight across the land, backlighting trees and houses and lengthening their shadows.

  Allan checked his watch: 8:35, well past Brian’s bedtime. He knew Melissa didn’t want to spoil their time together. That’s why she hadn’t come out yet.

  “It’s getting late, son,” Allan said. “And you have school tomorrow.”

  Brian made a pouty face. “I know.”

  He sagged his shoulders and dragged his feet through the grass toward the ball. The look of abandonment in his eyes broke Allan’s heart. He went to Brian and knelt to one knee, kissed him on the forehead, and gave him a hug. Then he leaned back, clasping Brian by the hands.

  “I’ll come back again tomorrow to see you,” he said. “Think of some things you want to do and we’ll do them. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Brian smiled a little. “I will, Dad.”

  “I love you.”

  “Me too.”

  Brian picked up the ball and carried it to the back porch. Allan watched him climb the stairs.

  “Goodnight, son,” he called over.

  Brian stopped at the door, turned around, and waved. “Goodnight, Dad.”

  As his son disappeared inside the house, Allan smiled to himself. He left the yard and headed back to the hotel.

  Life felt like it was beginning again for him.

  8

  Halifax, June 8

  6:43 p.m.

  The inscribed plaque above the double doors read: Taceant colloquia. Effugiat risus. Hic locus est ubi mors gaudet succurrere vitae. Let conversation cease. Let laughter flee. This is the place where death delights to help the living.

  Delights? Audra had always raised an eyebrow at that. A strange choice of words to say the least. How could there be anything delightful about death or the morgue? Coming to this cold, ominous place was her least favorite thing to do.

  On the other hand, she loved solving a puzzling murder, catching the bad guy, and bringing some measure of closure to the victim’s family. Certain parts of the job required a level of dissociation, the ability to distance yourself from the carnage, and not get lost in the tragedy. It was the main ingredient to a lasting career in homicide.

  Now matter how grisly or brutal the murder scenes were, they never bothered her as much as the morgue. That was another monster entirely. She’d witnessed what went on behind the closed doors—bodies laid out on stainless steel tables, stripped of clothes and dignity, and then opened up and emptied of parts like a worn-out vehicle at a salvage yard.

  It made her wish she would die non-violently at a ripe old age in wrinkled skin and a soft bed. Maybe even watching a vibrant red sunset at the edge of the open Atlantic with just a smattering of clouds that caught the sun’s fading rays.

  Audra flashed her badge at the on-duty guard and entered a corridor walled in beige cinder blocks and floored in matching vinyl. She passed shut doors leading into the X-ray room, the cooler, and the gross specimen storage room.

  The facilities were rented, just like Coulter’s office on Spring Garden Road. Gossip had a new state-of-the-art medical examiner’s facility being built in another year or two, possibly in Burnside, at the tune of 12.9 million.

  With each step closer to the autopsy suite, the tighter Audra’s stomach became. She paused a moment outside the door to brace herself. Then she stepped inside and an unpleasant cocktail of odors struck her senses. She put a fist under her nose, taking shallow breaths. Despite many trips to this room over the years, she’d never gotten used to the smell, and it varied every time. On this evening it ranged from the vinegary smell of formalin to that of the recent autopsy—blood, meat, and feces.

  The exhaust fans combined with the spider plants and peace lilies placed around the facility to help filter the air helped only a little.

  Audra spotted Coulter on the far side of the room, still in his scrub suit. He was hunched over a steel counter lined with small formalin jars. Each one had a tissue cassette sealed inside that held a sliver of organ for later microscopic inspection. Bigger jars sat on the end of the counter, the largest one having a human brain suspended from a string.

  On an adjacent table were paper bags of different sizes, manila envelopes, jars, and a long cardboard box. Audra knew the items contained everything gathered at the autop
sy—the axe, specimen collections, duct tape from the body, as well as the sheet used to wrap it in. Through the viewing glass of a nearby drying cabinet, she saw Todd Dory’s bloody t-shirt and jeans hanging inside.

  Eric Lefevre was rinsing off the dissection table with an overhead sprayer. Water, tinged with blood, swirled around the built-in drain, gurgling through the pipe as it flowed away.

  Audra stayed in her spot by the door, not wanting to venture any farther. Neither man seemed to notice her standing there, so she yelled a “hey” to get their attention.

  Eric looked over with a surprised smile and shut off the sprayer, threw a nod at her.

  Coulter turned from the counter. “Lieutenant Price.”

  “You wanted to show me something, Doctor?”

  “Yes, I did.” He screwed the lid on a jar he had in his hands and set it down with the others. “Something I found interesting.”

  “A clue?”

  “Evidence another weapon might’ve been involved in the crime.” He held up an index finger for emphasis. “Involved, not used.”

  Audra frowned. “Okay. You’ve piqued my curiosity.”

  A grin twisted the corners of Coulter’s mouth. “Good. I thought you’d like to know as soon as possible.”

  He stripped off the double layer of latex gloves and tossed them into a biohazard bin. He scrubbed his hands at the sink, then led Audra outside, across the corridor, and into the cooler, a small room with a bank of nine hatch-like doors filling the back wall. The refrigeration system chilling the bodies gave off a low hum.

  Coulter opened hatch #4. A white sheet covered the body inside, only the feet stuck out. Audra could feel the cold draft flowing out of the vault and she buttoned up her jacket against it.

  Coulter double-checked the tag attached to the big toe and pulled out the drawer. He lifted the corner of the sheet and folded it down to reveal the mangled face and neck of Todd Dory. With the blood washed, Audra saw the true extent of the damage—gaping wounds in the skin with the bone and muscle and severed vessels exposed underneath.

  Coulter pointed to the left cheek. “This is what I wanted to show you.”